


More Than Lust

by AsylumSession



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, idk i'll probably add more as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsylumSession/pseuds/AsylumSession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New school means new people. </p><p>Kiku Honda had never been particularly good with other people. He simply wasn't a very social person himself, preferring books or games or shows over conversations with others. Unfortunately, at the World Academy, these things didn't seem to matter to a certain French man, notorious for his flirting. Kiku Honda is roped into his game of love and lust - but Francis Bonnefoy might just have bitten off far more than he could chew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Frapan fanfiction, though I don't doubt there will be many to come. Hetalia belongs to Hima-papa. CC is welcomed.

_... It's so bright._

There is a shadow obscuring a part of my vision. I am all too aware that it is only my hand, shielding my eyes from the brilliant sunlight. But lately, it seems there is always a shadow in my sight, something dark at the edge of my eyes that threatens to drown me without saying a word. I would like to think it scares me – something like this should. But if I must be honest, I'm not entirely sure if it does or not. Perhaps I will simply allow it to carry me away.

The school is a three-story; a long, peach and beige stained building with dark vines of ivy winding up the cracked pillars and clinging desperately to the walls. The closely packed green makes me think of the aodaisho that make an occasional appearance in my garden back home. There's a muted ringing in my ears and my gaze sweeps the school yard, watching pairs and groups of people make their way this way and that, some chattering happily and others bickering. But I'm standing alone and the gap immediately registers itself in my head. As the new student, it will be me against the school until – _if_ – I make friends.

There is an issue with that, however. A sigh escapes my lips and I reluctantly lower my hand, eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness of the sun. I happen to be a very socially awkward person. It isn't that I am necessarily anti-social; I just don't happen to be particularly good at initiating the conversations. I like others, honestly, whether it is simply observing or talking to them. Usually, though, I tend to end up with a video game or a book or a show instead of another being. In the end, I suppose, I never really mind that kind of thing. Right now, on the other hand, I do.

I am completely and hopelessly lost. My sense of direction is quite good, actually, but I have no idea what the layout of this school is and for some reason, a map hasn't been provided to me. I don't want to go in without at least having an idea of where I am supposed to go, so I have been wandering out here for the past ten minutes, searching for what seems like reliable help. Most of the students here in the yard appear to be idly moving about. Class likely had yet to begin. Nearby, a pair of students catch my attention, coming in my direction. They seem to be as different as can be – the smaller one is loud enough for me to hear him from here.

His hair is a shade of auburn, with a rather odd curl off to the left side. He's still taller than I am – I can see that from here. The brunette is as cheerful as can be and his golden eyes are all for the blond man he's walking alongside. Said man, the more muscular of the two by far, sports slicked back blond hair and stern blue eyes. He pushes up his glasses; it appears to be a force of habit. They're both wearing the school uniform, but the blond is the only one wearing the blue jacket, similar to myself. It seems rather strained on his build, but this matter hardly seems to concern him. I straighten a fraction as they approach and try not to look entirely too confused, realizing that I am indeed their target, and not somebody past me. The blond is the first to speak.

“You are the new student, ja?” He asks gruffly, attempting to shake the brunette off his arm without glancing in his direction. This doesn't seem to please the brunette much, though, and only grips tighter. A part of me wonders if they're friends or if the golden eyed boy is just a very clingy person. The blond boy – who is German, judging by his heavy accent - doesn't seem too concerned with the entire thing, so it is more likely the former. The brunette whines quietly at his attempts, no doubt having no plans to release the blond any time soon. I realize I should probably answer them, but words choose then to fail me. The nervousness of being new again settles in. Faintly, my fingers are shaking; I hide them behind me to avoid the two seeing this. 

Swallowing, I manage a surprisingly calm answer, “Hai, I am. I am Kiku; Honda Kiku. I-I mean, Kiku Honda.” Instinct kicks in and I bow lowly, hands shifting back to my sides and gripping the plaid uniform pants that have been provided to me. Judging by the way his feet make an abrupt backwards motion, the formality that is normal to me startles the blond. It is unsurprising to me – my usual mannerisms seem odd to those of another country, no doubt. I straighten again and he's looking away with a slight frown and seems rather thrown off. But nonetheless, he turns back quickly and nods with sort of finality. 

“My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, the student body president here,” he says, crossing his arms despite the brunette half hanging off of one. He certainly seems like the type to be student body president – responsible and very goal-oriented. The brunette, on the other hand, seems to be the complete opposite. His grip on Ludwig's arm doesn't loosen in the slightest, but his golden eyes drift after a lethargic butterfly being carried on the light breeze. Said blond boy must notice my obvious confusion regarding the odd brunette, for he looks between us and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose below his glasses with the hand of his unoccupied arm. “And this is Feliciano Vargas. A,” he hesitates, likely searching for a good term to describe this rather ditzy acting boy. Seemingly unable to come up with a suitable one, he shakes his head. “friend, I suppose.” 

Upon hearing his name, the golden eyed boy's head swivels around to look at Ludwig, and then myself. He grins a brilliant, almost overly cheerful grin and suddenly releases Ludwig, darting out and grabbing my hands. “Ciao, Kiku!” He says in a high, heavily accented voice. If it isn't a given by his name, then it's his accent that proves his Italian origin. His abrupt motion startles me, however, and I instinctively jerk back as he practically takes that flying leap into my space. “Ve, let's be friends~!” His golden eyes are earnest and already trusting, despite the fact that he's only known me for perhaps five minutes, if that. His energy proves to be rather overwhelming and any courage I have is immediately gone.

 “A-Ah, Vargas-san,” I stumble over my words and instinctively tug on my sleeves, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I choose my words carefully, although I'm not entirely sure if they will make a difference or not. The chance to finish speaking isn't provided to me, though. Ludwig reaches forward and hauls Feliciano back out of my space by the collar of his shirt, much to the displeasure of the brunette boy. Relief immediately floods me, but Ludwig is speaking again before I have the opportunity to say more.

He adjusts his glasses wordlessly and fixes stern blue eyes on the smaller boy. “Feliciano, don't overwhelm him,” he tells the Italian, whose lips curl downwards in the semblance of a pout. I immediately feel a bit bad, but judging by the way they act, this isn't an uncommon happening. The large man shakes his head in a rather exhausted manner and returns his attention to me. “Apologies. Feliciano doesn't really know the meaning of personal space. As I was saying, I am Ludwig, student body present, and currently, your tour guide. I'll be showing you around the school, to your classes, your dorm, and where you can sign up for clubs. If you ever have questions, feel free to ask me.” The blond man pauses and scratches the back of his head, seemingly reminded of something. “And you can just call me Ludwig. No formalities necessary – they work differently in your country, don't they?”

My lips crease into a tight smile. “Yes, they do.”

When they lead the way back into the school, I follow.

~*~ 

Once inside, the school seems considerably less confusing. It's no surprise, though I do rather wish I chose to come inside in the first place. While there are a lot a winding halls and so many colorful papers stapled to the walls that my head spins, the next thing I notice are the number labels on the walls, informing students of what number classrooms are in that specific hall. Despite the fact that school only began a few days ago, the crowds inside seem to have a destination in mind. Ludwig decides to show me to my locker first, though it takes me a moment to locate it on my paper – Feliciano leans just a bit too close for my liking in order to point it out.

It takes me a few tries to get the silver locker open and a few of the taped on papers flutter to the linoleum floor. Nodding in approval that I know where the locker is and am able to open it, Ludwig glances again at my schedule – which I have let him see for the time being. He's checking the room numbers, I assume, in order to see if I have any on this hall. The blond shakes his head and turns on his heel instead, starting back to the main hall with myself and the Italian in close pursuit. Ludwig informs me that he'll be showing me my classes in order and therefore the quickest routes to them. He's certainly proven to be a very responsible, trustworthy person, so I only nod my agreement.

The school is unsurprisingly large. I'm nearly separated from Ludwig and Feliciano more than once and I feel as though I am apologizing more today than I ever have in my life. It turns out my classes are ridiculously spaced out, so between this and Feliciano's constant distractions, it winds up taking much longer than intended. It's already almost the end of the class day – although I _did_ arrive a bit after one - when Ludwig finally leads me to the area to sign up for clubs. 

“Captain is the head of the Newspaper club,” Feliciano chimes, peering over my shoulder as I sign up for the Manga Research club. 

Somehow, the news is a bit surprising to me. I lift my head, nearly smacking into the too close brunette. “Sumimasen- I mean, I'm sorry.” I still am not very good at English, it seems. “Is he, now? Are you a member?” I don't doubt he is. Ludwig and Feliciano seem to have a close friendship, though I may just be assuming things. 

Feliciano bobs his head happily, confirming my suspicions. “I am! It's only the two of us though so it's kinda boring sometimes, but it's also super fun- I mean when Luddy isn't being bossy or scary, that is, but even then I know he just means well and we get a lot of good articles because there's always so much going on around here,” as if to prove his point, he gestures to the multi-colored papers adorning the what seemed to be typically white walls. “but anyways even though we don't actually have more than two members we somehow manage to get things done, although I like to take siestas and Captain doesn't actually like that too much so-”

“ _Feliciano,_ ” Ludwig cuts off the Italian's ramble. I'm left with wide eyes; now I understand why Ludwig told him not to be so overwhelming. Until now, I didn't know somebody was capable of saying so much on a single breath. I seem to have underestimated Feliciano, though. Ludwig shakes his head when the brunette immediately clams up with a sheepish smile and an apologetic giggle, clinging onto Ludwig's arm again. The blond sighs. “Sorry, once he's started, he doesn't know when to stop. Ja, I am the head of the school newspaper, but it's only Feliciano and I at the moment.” 

I hesitate a moment longer before slowly nodding and turning my head back to the sign up sheets. Locating the one with 'Newspaper' printed across the front, I sign up with only slight hesitation on my part. “There,” I turn to look at the two. They are potential friends, so I don't want to pass up a chance like this. Perhaps joining this club will help me make more friends and perhaps even get further out of my shell; after all, I would have to interview people for the paper. “Now there can be three, if you'll have me.”

Feliciano's eyes light up and Ludwig glances to the side, a red tinging his cheeks. “Ja, we're always grateful for new members,” he mumbles, and follows it with a quiet 'thank you.' It makes me realize just how awkward of a person this initially intimidating man really is. A smile tugs at my lips and I bow, successfully flustering the German further. “A-Anyways, I'll show you to your dorm now.”

He takes the lead again and I quickly follow. The hall is much emptier now, thankfully, save for a few students that still wander or lean in nooks beneath the stairs to speak. The dorm building is a separate structure, but it's connected by a long hallway. For a minute, I wonder why, but I recall Feliciano informing me earlier that the cafeteria was always open, and that could easily be part of the reason. _Or easy access. Or perhaps for when it rains?_ I shake the thoughts away and follow the two – one of which still has yet to stop chattering happily – to the other end of the hall and up a flight of winding stairs. 

There seems to be multiple floors of dorms that the winding staircase goes through, and this is only the boys' side. The girls' is on the opposite end of the entire school building, again separate by only a long hall. Feliciano spends most of the trip up the stairs complaining about how hard it is, though Ludwig blatantly ignores it. He's probably accustomed to it and now I find myself quite curious as to how long they've known each other. I don't know if they want to tell me, though, so I keep quiet instead. We go up another floor and Ludwig halts in front of a dorm further down, double checking it with my sheet and handing said paper back to me. 

“This is it,” he says, gesturing to it. “You should have been provided a key to it.” 

“Hai, I was.” I step forward and unlock the door, going inside. Feliciano intrudes with an excited trill and nearly jostles me in the process, bouncing over to the window and Ludwig hesitates at the door until I wave him in. The muscular blond shuffles in and chooses to linger by the door instead of follow his much more energetic companion.

The dorm is simple, white washed walls and dull colors. The bed is made up with pale, sand toned blankets and what seems to be white sheets beneath. It's just a simple twin sized mattress with a lone pillow propped at the head. It is tucked into one corner of the dorm with a small, ash wood nightstand beside it. The closet on the opposite side of the room is empty, save for a few spaced out hangers and sheets tucked in the corner of the high shelf. There's another door; I assume it leads to the restroom. The room is plain, no doubt so whoever occupies it can change it to their liking. I don't really own posters or anything like that, but I spot a bookshelf in the other corner and immediately know I'll put that to use and perhaps rearrange the room a bit or order things online to make it more comfortable to me. 

“Kiku, Kiku, look!” Feliciano's voice breaks through my observations and I turn my attention to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He looks perhaps overly excited, absolutely bouncing from foot to foot and waving one hand rapidly at the window. When I don't immediately make my way over, he decides to close the gap himself and grasps my sleeve, pulling me to the window. He jabs his finger at the glass and nearly smashes the limb into it, barely avoiding such. But he's only looking at me and it rather startles me, so it takes me a moment to drag my gaze away from his face and look at whatever it is that excites him like this. 

Immediately, my eyes widen. I recognize the soft pink petals of a popular flower back home. From my window, it seems, there is a perfect view of a grove of sakura trees, beautiful against the windswept grass and dusk streaked sky. It amazes me that they have something like this here, but no sort of protest touches my tongue. It's like a piece of home is here and by the way Feliciano is grinning, he knows exactly what I'm thinking. The brunette isn't nearly as ditzy as I initially thought, it seems. Though I didn't particularly hate him before, I certainly find myself liking him a lot more, now.

“Thank you for pointing this out, Vargas-san,” I started, a smile tugging at my lips. “I am very grateful to you.” And I am. It isn't a lie in the slightest; an overwhelming sense of joy swells in my chest and the smile grows a fraction. It isn't full blown, but it's certainly not nonexistent. 

His grin doesn't waver in the slightest. “Call me Feliciano,” the brunette answers, rocking back and forth on his heels. He bounces back to join Ludwig at the door. “See you tomorrow, Kiku!” 

With the declaration, he whisks Ludwig out of the room and the door clicks shut softly behind them. I am left alone again and only momentarily does my gaze stray back to the window. It's amazing that they're still in bloom at this time of year. Typically, in August, they would have fallen already. Granted, it is only early in the month so these must have bloomed in late July. I draw the curtains closed and pick up the book I am in the process of rereading – it is what kept me distracted on the plane ride here – and cross the room to my bed. It's a tattered – from me reading it so many times – copy of _Memoirs of a Geisha_ that I am nearly done with again. Although I lay down with the intention of completing it, I am asleep before my head can touch the pillow.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, wow, hi. So if you check my tumblr, then you already know updates will be slow for a while due to a lack of wifi at home. Ahh, this chapter probably isn't as good - I kind of pushed myself through it, between trying to keep up with this and Camp NaNoWriMo. But irregardless, here it is. Sorry for any OOC characters.

One typically finds that introducing yourself in front of an entire class in a new school is either the most nerve wracking, or the best time.

One would be right. More than anything, I have come to find, it's simply the fact that all eyes are on you and there's that moment of suspense when they decide whether or not they want to bother with you. It's the people who decide they  _do_  want to bother with you that will ultimately alter how the time at this new place will play out. If they like you, you become one of them. If not, then it typically leads to rumors. Rumors are inevitable either way, I suppose, but that doesn't stop me from shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot as I pause outside of the classroom door in an attempt to calm my nerves before I go into my second class of the day. This is my second time doing this, but that seems to mean nothing at this point. ****

Ludwig pauses – he's leading me around to my classes again today, just to make sure I get to them – and raises one hand as though to pat my shoulder, but he seems to think better of it and lowers his hand again. It makes me wonder if he's thinking of my reaction to Feliciano grabbing my own hands yesterday. Whatever the case, I likely would react the same, so I find myself grateful that he clearly thought better of it. There was a chance that they could end up being good friends to me, so I didn't want to manage to ruin that. ****

"You'll be fine," Ludwig says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have to get to my class now, so just go on in. The teacher knows you're coming and I'll pick you up after class, so there isn't anything to worry about."

I nod and we say our goodbyes. I watch him vanish down the hall before turning again to the door and inhaling deeply as I gather my bearings to do this. I never have been particularly good at the new kid scenario, despite how often my family moves around. It is one of the many reasons I enrolled here; the students live on campus, so I don't have to worry about constantly moving around. Finally, I reach forward and twist the knob, pushing the door open. Immediately, the teacher turns towards me and offers a bright, overly cheerful smile. She bounces on her heels and gestures for me to come stand in the front of the room. I am immediately all too aware of the fact that every student in the classroom is looking at me. Lifting my gaze from my feet, I straighten and turn my head to scan them, managing more or less to remain calm as I come to a halt. None of them glance away.

The row organization is rather odd. There are five rows. The two on the far sides of the room – closer to the door on the left side and pushed against the windows on the right – consist of only four desks, while the middle row consists of six and the ones on either side of it have five. It isn't hard to guess that this teacher is a rather eccentric one. It will certainly prove to be a change to adjust to; my first period teacher is a very strict, serious man. It occurs to me that I should speak; this is the second time I have managed to think about something else entirely in a situation like this. The first was with Ludwig and Feliciano, when I first met them. I straighten up and clasp my hands in front of me. It takes everything in me not to bow. ****

"Hello. My name is Kiku Honda," I finally managed to perfect my greeting after practicing it for a while. "It's nice to be here."

The teacher seems pleased, clapping her hands together. "Right, then," she glances around. "Why don't you go sit over there?"

Somehow, the seat she points me to fails to surprise me. It's the window seat at the end of the row.  _It's fate. Absolute fate._  A sigh escapes me and I resist the urge to shake my head as I go to the seat. Somehow, I feel like the seating is fully intentional – there is, after all, at least two other empty seats here. Whatever the case, I choose not to protest and instead sit down, placing my messenger bag by my feet. It doesn't take too long for the class to lose interest in me again, similarly to the way my first period reacted. There is a convenience to sitting next to the window, however, if only because I happen to enjoy looking out. There is maple trees outside, leaves just now starting to turn shades of reds and oranges and browns as August comes to an end. It is when I briefly catch sight of my own reflection in the window that I suddenly become aware that there's somebody still watching me. ****

All other eyes have turned away, but there is still a pair focusing on me. I feel it burning into my back, but I find that I do not have the courage to turn and find out just who it is. Even if I could do it subtly, the idea of locking eyes with them is a rather unnerving one. Instead, I choose to simply sink down in my seat slightly and fiddle with my sleeves, wishing they were long like they are on my usual clothing. There is eventually a point in class when the rather uncomfortable feeling fades at last.  _They must have looked away._ Though it does seem to return every so often, I begin to wonder if they are simply curious. Perhaps they are seeing if there is anything particularly interesting about me. There isn't, of course, so they're in for a surprise. I am not a very interesting person; at least I don't think I am. ****

Soon enough, class ends. I rise from my seat wordlessly and pull my bag across my body, heading towards the door. I smile back when the teacher smiles at me and meet Ludwig outside of the room. Feliciano is with him this time, already chattering incessantly. Ludwig appears to only be half-listening; he turns when I exit the room and Feliciano immediately follows suit, grinning and bouncing over. This time, I notice, he's a bit more careful about invading my space this time, keeping his hands to himself. He still gets a bit too close for comfort, but that's much easier to handle than his touching. First impressions, I've since learned, are not entirely reliable. Feliciano is a good example of that; he comes off as an airhead and completely oblivious and clingy at first, but he's really just a friendly person who is quite capable of learning other people's boundaries and not passing them. ****

"You have the next class with me," Ludwig informs me, before he takes the lead. ****

I'm starting to remember these halls now, from the first day here. The walk is quickly becoming an instinctive thing and I find myself grateful for my typically good memory. Feliciano does not have the class with us – Ludwig and I are taking advanced classes, but the Italian isn't – but he is on the same hall so he walks with us to the door, says his goodbyes with a hug for the awkward German and a cheerful wave to me, and goes off down the hall to his own class. Ludwig and I go in; he takes his seat and, thankfully, there seems to be an empty one beside him. This teacher doesn't seem to care too much and simply gestures for me to sit. I do, sitting beside Ludwig and just now realizing how I pale in comparison to the much larger German. A few others file in, talking, and the teacher closes the door as class begins. ****

–

Throughout the day, a few people seem to take an interest in me. In fourth period study hall, I feel a pair of eyes boring into my back again and it's oddly familiar; I immediately associate it with whoever was doing the same in my second period class. Yet again, I do not have the courage to glance back. A Chinese boy who calls himself Yao speaks to me at one point in fourth period – according to him, we have both first and third period together, as well. His apparent boyfriend, a large, intimidating boy by the name of Ivan, deeply unsettles me. In fact, I quickly come to find I do not frankly like either of them. Perhaps I should not think like this so soon, but it's almost strenuous around Yao, and the way Ivan keeps staring me down makes me feel like he'll curse me. ****

Yao is bragging about something now; it's about how he's at the top of the class currently and he does not doubt he'll be valedictorian. In this odd system of freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors, we are what they call juniors, so it does not surprise me that he is so confident. Ivan just nods along with Yao's words and I can't tell if he is really listening or not. Whatever the case, I only wish to get along with others – but these two are making it particularly hard. Mouthing off to two people who have been here since their freshmen year – something I picked up at  _some_  point in this one sided conversation – is probably not the best idea, but I do it anyways. ****

"Perhaps someone will surpass you this year or next," I say, without lifting my head from my book. I do not need to look up to know that Yao either looks startled, taken aback, or flat out annoyed, judging by the semblance of a gasp that comes from him. The air seems to grow a fraction colder and I peer at Ivan from the corner of my eye, watching him slowly tug his scarf up over his nose. That unnerving smile does not waver on his lips and his eyes are still closed happily. He is not nodding anymore, however.

" _Excuse me?"_ Yao is talking again and I finally look at him. As expected, he seems fairly angry – although fairly might be a bit of an underestimation. The brunette narrows his eyes at me and leans back, crossing his arms coolly. "I hold number one for two year, you think I just let go? Second is German kid and I still way past him." It fails to surprise me that Ludwig is the likely salutatorian; he seems to be very intelligent. I turn my gaze back to my book and flip to the next page. ****

"But you are still no good at English," I say, and immediately know I have crossed the line. My eyes widen and so do Yao's, but he looks more angry than anything else. It is a direct blow to his pride and I already begin to regret the words. I didn't really mean for them to come out, honestly, I don't like being rude at all. But there really is just something about these two that irks me and I do not want to talk to them. Besides, judging by the way people tend to stray or stare wide eyed at the Russian, they do not have a very good reputation; or at least this Ivan doesn't. A hand comes down hard on my shoulder and I flinch, fingers tightening on my book as it quickly becomes crushing. ****

People here clearly do not understand the concept of  _no touching without consent._ I start in an attempt to fix that, as politely as I can manage with these two. "Please don't tou-" ****

Ivan does not allow me to finish my sentence. He is smiling that same, too cheerful smile, but something cold lingers at the edges now and I don't know if it or the hand crushing my shoulder is what sends a dreadful chill down my spine. I know my shoulder is going to hurt a lot – it already does – but I try not to let it show. "You are new,  _da?_ " Ivan drags out the words calmly, far too calmly for the grip he has on my shoulder. I do not respond and so the grip tightens. This time I wince slightly and nod. His smile visibly brightens and I wish I could sink into myself. "Then you should learn your place and not be so rude to my Yao! Otherwise, it might be troublesome for you, da?" ****

His tone is too cheerful, but there is a threatening undertone to the words. Without bothering for a response this time, he releases my shoulder and goes off with Yao, who is muttering something about annoying new kids and scolding a smiling Ivan about being violent. I grip my shoulder. It aches now, thanks to Ivan's ridiculously strong grip. Though I know I should not have said something so mean – my own English isn't exactly the best, either – I can't bring myself to apologize to them. Now I have a goal set in the back of my mind – surpass Yao. I was top of my class in my last school, I can do it again here. ****

It is only my first official day, and I have already managed to make two enemies. This  _must_  be a new record. ****

I become aware that I am still being watched. The bell rings before I can gather the courage glance back and I stand instead, exiting. Fifth period is Health and it passes in a blur of introductions and a Taiwanese girl – whom never actually gives me her name – chatting to me the entire period. She is much kinder than the two before, so I try to be a bit more attentive this time. Finally, lunch comes around and Ludwig and Feliciano lead me to the school's large cafeteria. People are talking loudly to each other when we enter and I instinctively shrink closer to the other two boys. Only a few people bother glancing in our direction, but they seem to lose interest soon enough and we are left in peace. Since I make my own lunches, I only wait for Ludwig and Feliciano to get theirs and follow them to what seems to be their usual table, sitting down with them.

Truthfully, I am beyond grateful for their company. I'm not entirely sure how I would handle this beyond odd school without them. Granted, I have only known them for nearly two days, but a part of me just  _knows_  they'll be good friends in the future. All I can do for the time being, though, is hope they'll bother to stick around once they realize I am capable of taking care of myself already. I am accustomed to having to learn quickly, so this is nothing new to me and it doesn't ever take me too long to memorize a particular route once I have traveled it more than once. I suppose signing up for their club is in my favor, however, so I push the worries to the back of my mind instead. Feliciano seems to be saying something to me and I straighten immediately, tuning in. ****

"-don't you, Kiku~?" ****

_Missed it._  I smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. "A-Ah, I apologize, but I'm afraid I did not quite catch that. Would you mind repeating it...? ****

Feliciano hardly seems fazed. It strikes me that he probably gets ignored a lot; I have noticed that even Ludwig is guilty of it, though he tries his best to listen. I tend to zone out a lot, but it is a habit that will have to go now. The Italian is swinging his legs under the table; he bumps my shin with his foot. "I was asking if you had art sixth period," he informs me with that airy smile. When I nod, he completely rotates in his seat to look at Ludwig, who is seated beside him. "I told you I had a class with him, Luddy!" ****

I blink, fully focusing in on the conversation. "Var- Feliciano-san, we have a class together?" I do wish I had thought to pay more attention to the chatter, but it tends to be relentless and Feliciano simply does not stay on one subject at a time. Now I wonder what his articles are like, but I suppose I'll find out eventually. Ludwig still has not informed me when the club is meeting, though I do not doubt it will be soon enough. ****

Feliciano bobs his head energetically. "Yep! We have art together next period! My fratello has that class too so it'll be super fun even though he's kinda mean sometimes, but he doesn't really mean it, I think, he's just kinda awkward and doesn't really do good with people so 'Toni is the only one that can really tolerate him but then again I'm pretty sure Lovi-no – I almost forgot that he gets super mad when I call him Lovi and- oops, I did it again! - likes Toni anyways even if he won't admit it and oh, I bet you're a really good artist, huh, Kiku? What's those comics in your country called- it was like ma- maa- man- manga? Is that right or am I wrong again because sometimes I get the pronunciations wrong especially when I try to speak something hard like German and then Ludwig yells at me – you won't yell at me, right? - but it's okay because he apologizes anyways and sometimes I get it right but-" ****

" _Feliciano,_ " Ludwig cuts off the Italian's long rant for the second time since I've been here. I am left with wide eyes – again – and a nagging question as to how on Earth the brunette manages to speak so much on one breath. ****

Feliciano grins sheepishly and mumbles an apology. The chatter becomes aimless for the remainder of the lunch period passes in a mix of idle chatter and sudden arguments at other tables that make me jump in surprise, but Feliciano just keeps on talking to Ludwig, who gives no reaction to them either. It occurs to me that they must be a common thing, in that case. When the bell finally rings to signal the end of lunch, I tuck my empty bento into my bag and hoist it back over my shoulder to wait for Ludwig and Feliciano to get rid of their trash. They rejoin me and we fall into step together, Feliciano in the center so he can swivel either way depending on who his chatter is more or less directed at. I walk on his left, closer to the lockers, and Ludwig is on his right, braving the bustling crowds. For someone his size, it isn't a challenge at all, I suppose. ****

Much to Feliciano's pleasure, Ludwig tags along with us to the art room. He says his goodbyes at the door and turns around, hurrying off to his own class. I follow Feliciano into the art room, where he immediately prances over to a similar looking boy, save for the fact that the other boy's hair is a bit darker and his eyes are green instead of the gold Feliciano sports. The room is colorful to say the least, hand painted walls with pictures and hand-prints scrawled over the surface. There are four windows on the far wall, placed about three feet apart each. Drawings and paintings alike hang from wire strung across the room and are tacked up to the wall. Small sculptures line the top of the short, wooden supply cabinets and easels are set up before stools in seemingly random places across the room. Four tables are set in the center of the room; I suppose they are for students who prefer paper to a canvas. ****

The teacher turns out to be just as ecstatic as Feliciano. She steers me to what appears to be the front of the room and declares that I am a new student. I barely get my name out before she takes my shoulders and maneuvers me towards an empty window seat. Really, I am not entirely sure what just occurred. It seems as though I will have to get used to hyper teachers and students alike. The seat the teacher gave me has a good view of the school yard; it will be useful when I run out of things to draw or paint. The ghost of a smile crosses my lips. No, this will not be a bad year at all. ****

When day melts to evening, I find myself beneath the sakura trees. I do not feel so homesick, anymore.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluntly put, fanfiction is my creativity outlet. I like to constantly change styles and PoVs, so expect a lot of that. I still apologize for OOC characters; I'm still working on that, but it's bound to happen. 
> 
> ...I feel as though I might enjoy talkative Feli just a little too much.

“ This should be the last little bit,” Ludwig says, picking up the last few boxes. 

I have to crane my head around the boxes and stacks of – tied together, thankfully – papers in my hands to see Ludwig  hoist the last few items into his arms and peer around to make sure it was indeed everything .  He leads the way out of the room and I follow; Feliciano, humming a cheerful tune I don't recognize, is the last out.  H e closes the door with his foot  and the uppermost box in his arms teeters dangerously, but he doesn't drop it as he falls into step with Ludwig and I. 

It is the first weekend since I have been here. Some students go to visit home if they live close enough, but most just stay here. The weekends really aren't too different from the week, save for the fact there is no class and uniforms are not required – though some students choose to still wear them. Ludwig and I are among those who choose to remain wearing it. Lunch is still at the same time and some students are still busier than others.

Take Ludwig, for example. Despite the weekend being our supposed free time, he is still busy with student council measures. Feliciano, as usual, chose to help him and they both showed up at my door at about eight this morning. I too was then, against my will – more or less, that is; really, I just didn't have it in me to refuse them since they had come all this way and I am quite sure Feliciano doesn't wake early too often – dragged into helping. I've come to realize that my fears of losing them are irrational. They've dragged me right into their little crew and I can't say I really mind too much. They may be a bit eccentric – cue a look specifically towards Feliciano – but I think I can get used to that.

I have yet to make any more friends, but I suppose that's alright; just two is fine for me.

Feliciano's tower of papers and boxes sway haphazardly at the slight skip to his step. For once, he isn't chattering. He is humming still, though, but it is clear he isn't fully awake quite yet. He's awake enough to know better than to drop the things in his arms, at least. Ludwig himself does not seem as though he got enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes, but I suppose those were there before, anyways. I didn't get enough sleep for a completely different reason; I highly doubt either of them were up late playing video games. Really, I suppose I should have learned my lesson by now, but I never really do.

A question surfaces in my mind and I glance at Ludwig as best as I can. “Ano... Be- Ludwig-san,” I ask, and his head turns slightly in my direction. “Who else is on the student council?”

I do not know many other students and I doubt I know any of the members, but I'm still rather curious. I don't think I'll bother going out for student council either way, though it couldn't hurt to know who is currently on it. I might meet them eventually, so that would be one thing I could mention. Ludwig pauses momentarily, as though collecting his thoughts. We turn down another hall before he finally speaks.

“As you know, I am the president of the council,” he mutters something under his breath that I don't quite catch and rolls his eyes. “Elizabeta – she's the only female on the council and also the captain of the swim team - is our vice president. She's nice until you rub her the wrong way. Toris is the secretary; he's nice too, and kind of quiet. There's always this loud Polish kid with him, though. Abel is the treasurer. He's, ah, well, we'll just say he didn't get the position for no reason. I'm not actually too good at pronouncing any of their surnames – respectively, they're Hungarian, Lithuanian, and Dutch.”

As expected, I do not recognize any of the names or their descriptions. The most familiar one is Toris and I am quite sure I only heard that in passing. Perhaps it was something like 'Tori' – somehow, I picture a quiet bird behind a 'secretary' name plate - I heard, however. I really am not entirely sure. I only murmur something with a semblance to acknowledgement and silence falls over us again, broken only by Feliciano's scattered bouts of humming. The occasional chatter drifts down the hall from other students who are lingering around.

Feliciano, this time, breaks it. He tilts his head at me. “Say, Kiku, do you have any siblings~?” 

I glance at him, shaking my head at the question. “No,” I answer. “I'm an only child.”

Being an only child has its perks, I suppose, though sometimes I like to think it would be nice to have a sibling as well. Really, I am not entirely too sure; most of the people I knew back in Japan that had siblings didn't exactly like it. Some were in the good with their siblings, but most tended to be on rather bad terms, it seemed. I never was entirely sure why; they are family, after all. I don't think a lot of people tend to think like me, though, on that matter. Except perhaps Feliciano; he seems to like his brother well enough, though I am not entire sure how said brother feels about the younger Italian.

Feliciano grins. “Well, you already know I do,” he says, slowly returning to his cheerful self. “You already saw – or did you meet? - Lovi in art, I think or maybe you didn't because honestly sometimes I'm not really sure when you're paying attention because you kinda zone out sometimes and it isn't actually obvious so I don't realize it until I actually address you but then you admit you weren't and- Oh! Did I mention that Ludwig has a brother, too? He's older, just like Lovino is for me and he's also shorter than Ludwig just like Lovino is to me but actually Lovino's the shortest of all four of us – oops! Don't tell Lovi I said that! - anyways, his name is Gil, well, actually, it's Gilbert but I call him Gil because it's just easier and it kinda sounds like a fish- but anyways he's super cool looking and he has this little bird that he somehow gets away with carrying everywhere and I'm really not sure how but he named it after himself and-”

“ _Feliciano.”_

“Sorry, Captain!”

I'm slowly getting used to it.

Ludwig turns onto another hall and I follow him and Feliciano to the double doors at the end. Ludwig pushed open the door with his foot and holds it open so Feliciano and I can go through. He nods towards the stack of boxes near a storage closet on the far end of the room and for what is possibly the third time – honestly, I haven't been counting – we put down the items there. Ludwig puts down his own boxes and straightens up, dusting off his hands and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Right, thank you two for your help. I have some things to finish up here, so I'll see you during lunch,” he says, running his fingers through his slicked back hair.

Feliciano immediately goes to protest, but someone else walks through the door; a brunette girl that I don't recognize. She pauses and peers between the three of us, before smiling warmly.

“Hello, Ludwig, Feliciano, I should have expected to see you here,” Feliciano giggles something about Ludwig always working; she laughs and looks at me curiously. “I don't believe I know you, actually. Are you the new student?” 

She seems kind enough; this is Elizabeta, I assume. Ludwig _did_ mention something about her being the only female. I smile faintly. “Hai. I mean, yes. I am. My name is Kiku Honda,” I tell her, glad I at least got the name order right this time.

The brunette smiles kindly. “Lovely to meet you, Kiku. My name is Elizabeta Héderváry; student council vice president,” she says, holding out a hand to shake.

Though it is a bit reluctant, I shake her hand and then murmur my goodbyes to them, turning and exiting the room. Feliciano stays behind, unsurprisingly, so I am left alone again. I decide to find the library for the time being; if I get lost, I have time to find my way back. There is still a couple of hours before lunch, so I suppose I'll be fine. I make my way down the hall again and drift into the crowd, glancing at different faces and picking up pieces of conversations as I pass.

I find I think a lot more than usual, lately. It may simply be because I'm in a new place or perhaps because of all the experiences I've had in such a short time of being here. Despite having already managed to make two enemies, I can't say I don't like it here. It's certainly a change and honestly, change is something I have never been particularly good with. That isn't to say I can't learn to adapt, though it's a given that it won't be something easy for me. Nonetheless, I find myself enjoying my time here so far. 

Then again, a few days may be a bit early to make any sort of assumption.

Despite having only been shown there once, the library is surprisingly easy to find. I suppose they place it in an area where it's easy for the general student body to find it, though. Upon entering, my eyes immediately widen at the rows upon rows of books. I haven't actually come in here before, so the sheer size takes my breath away. This is a _lot_ of books. Presented the opportunity, I would definitely attempt to read most, if not all of them.

I catch sight of Yao, luckily without Ivan –  I'm all too sure the Russian boy would spot me immediately – a few tables away from the door. His back is to me and he has yet to notice me, but I steer clear anyways. I don't want to bother with the drama today or constantly have dirty looks pointed at me.  I could do without  that for the moment, at least.  Luckily, Yao is so deeply engrossed in his book  that he does not even glance up as I pace forward and slip between the nearby bookshelv es. Nothing on this row immediately interests me so I move on.

I am not sure what I am looking for, but eventually I find some books that seem interesting enough. I check out and decide not to linger. I exit the library and decide to return to my dorm for the time being. There isn't much else to do, so I can just read or play games until lunch comes along in about three hours and I can meet up with Ludwig and Feliciano again.

Really, I suppose I could have just as easily stayed behind with them – Feliciano is probably talking Ludwig's ear off, though the German never seems to mind.  I suppose it makes up for how little Ludwig speaks; they balance each other out nicely.  I sigh as I trek up the stairs to the dorms; really, this set up was ridiculous. There's an elevator, but it's only for handicap students.  I unlock my dorm door when I arrive and go in, closing it behind me and removing my shoes. 

Maybe I'll nap instead.

~*~

Twelve thirty finds me tripping over my own feet in my haste to stumble out of bed. 

I had ended up napping in the middle of my book and now there's only about ten minutes before I'm supposed to meet Ludwig and Feliciano for lunch. My head spins at the abrupt motion of standing and I exhale sharply, sitting right back down and waiting for the head rush to fade. When it does, I slowly get back up  and attempt to at least straighten myself up. Miraculously, I didn't lose my page when I  fell asleep, so I bookmark  it now and set the novel aside.

T h e small light on the corner of my phone is flashing, signaling a text message. Curious, I pick it up and unlock it, wondering who it is from. There are few people that would bother texting me – granted, there are few people who have my number in the first place - and my parents only call me because they still aren't entirely accustomed to technology. The message, it seems, is from Ludwig. I  only received it minutes ago; now that I think about it, the alert tone might have been the thing that woke me up. 

I check the message and sigh. Ludwig is still wrapped up in student council matters, so it turns out he'll be late for lunch. Obviously, Feliciano will be sticking around with him. It isn't the slightest bit surprising, really. I text him back an acknowledgement – and mention that it's fine since he felt the need to apologize – and pick up my DS and check to see what game is in it. My copy of Kingdom Hearts  Re:coded is in the slot and I shrug, slipping it back into place. That'll do, I suppose. 

I slip my shoes back on and grab my lunch, making sure I have anything else I need before exiting the room and locking the door behind me. A few days prior, I nearly lost the key and so I ended up turning it into a necklace; I loop it over my neck now and tuck it into the shirt of my uniform. I'll have to pass the time waiting by playing my game while I'm eating, at least until Ludwig and Feliciano comes and Feliciano strikes up some sort of conversation.  I'm a bit nervous; it isn't like it's unusual for Ludwig to get caught up in other matters, but it usually isn't around this time.  This is the first time I'll be eating alone, as petty as it sounds. 

Nonetheless, I make my way slowly to the cafeteria. I've come to the conclusion that the walls are soundproof here; I can't hear a thing from the cafeteria until the doors are opened by groups of students flocking in. I slip in after a particularly large group and go right to the table Ludwig, Feliciano, and I usually sit at, taking my seat on the end of the side opposite to where said friends typically sit. I unwrap my lunch and pick up my chopsticks with one hand, turning on my DS with the other and watching it boot up.

I tune out the idle chatter around me and rather wish I'd thought to bring my earbuds. It would be a pain at this point to go all the way to my dorm – or did I leave them in my locker again? - just to get them.  In the end, I decide not to bother. I'll survive without them for the time being, anyways. For a part of the lunch period, my attention is torn between my food and my  game. This particular boss is giving me trouble, though I'm close to beating it this time. I've played this game so many times, but I still have trouble on the same old bosses.

Nearly fifteen minutes in and no sign of my friends. I'm beginning to wonder if there's a way to eat if you miss lunch – other than dinner, that is. I do hope they don't miss it, though. At this rate, even if they don't, they'll hardly have any time to eat. I shake the thoughts away and finally manage to beat the boss.  _Moving on._ I am not presented the chance to continue the dialogue, however. 

Abruptly, the table jostles as two bodies slide into the seats across from me. I would have immediately thought they were Ludwig and Feliciano, if it weren't for the third that drops down directly to my left. Slowly, I peer up, rather confused. I do not immediately recognize the three. They're all about as different looking as it gets, besides perhaps a somewhat similar dressing style. Perhaps that's just me; I'm not entirely accustomed to western styles since my household was so traditional, despite living just outside of Tokyo. 

In Ludwig's usual sit on the corner sits a white haired boy with pale skin and seemingly red eyes. It clicks quickly that he's albino, though I've never seen one in real life. He's wearing a blinding yellow shirt that reads, 'Warning, you may go blind from my pure awesomeness.' Western fashion absolutely baffles me. He has one leg stretched out to the side, so I spot dark jeans and white and gray high tops. He has a black beanie on and a spike bracelet on his left wrist with a skull bracelet on his right. He's grinning widely, though I am not sure I want to know why. Oddly, there is a bright yellow chick perching on his shoulder; it blends with the shirt, so I almost didn't notice it.

Beside him sits a Spanish boy with windswept brown hair and a grin that easily touches his eyes. He has a pair of black headphones around his neck and I spot a crucifix hanging over his green 'Ask me about my T-Rex' shirt. I can't see his pants or shoes, since they're hidden beneath the table and frankly, I am not about to look down. 

I glance at the last one from the corner of my eyes. He is leaning against the table with his elbow propped against it, one palm supporting his chin.  H e's watching me; he smirks when he notices I'm looking. He has  chin length blond hair tucked beneath what seems to be a gray trilby and a stubble lines his chin. His glittering blue eyes are fixed on me and it's a bit unnerving. The other boy is clad in a dark red scarf and a long, loose, dark gray sweater. His white shirt beneath reads 'Blink if you want me' and I immediately find myself attempting  _not_ to blink. 

I barely catch sight of the Eiffel Tower necklace he wears and the black watch on the wrist of the hand supporting his chin. His black jeans are shredded from the upper thigh down to the shins and I am really beginning to question western style clothing. Is it supposed to be damaged like that? He's wearing a pair of black boots and I suppose those are nice. Slowly, I straight up and look between the three. I am not presented the chance to speak. Beside me, the blond haired boy straightens up as well and tilts his head.

"Bonjour,” he greets, and I am already hooked. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in seeing the three outfits, check my tumblr; the link is on my account! Check the tag 'Bad Touch Trio'!


	4. 4

I am not entirely  sure why the students at the nearby tables look at me with a mixture of pity and amusement. 

I'm  starting to feel as though it has something to do with these three, however. There's something about them that is akin to predatory and I am beginning to realize that I am their target prey.  I find myself shrinking back at the sight of flirtatious smiles and lopsided grins.  A part of me feels as though I should recognize the white haired boy, but I don't know why and it bothers me. 

The blond to my left is immediately established as a touchy person. His knee bumps mine and I know it's all too intentional; instinctively, I shift to the other edge of my chair. He leans forward and I  habitually find myself leaning back.  His sapphire eyes do not waver and his whimsical smile grows. 

“Ah, so  _ you _ are the new student,” he drawls out in a lilting, heavily accented voice. “ Where did you come from, hm?”

So he's French. And he's touching my leg again; I scoot away.  _ Is personal space such a hard concept?  _ Already, a part of me absolutely screams to leave and not answer anything these three have for me, but I find I am glued to my chair and my legs aren't quite cooperating. I swallow and glance between the three again, slowly, hoping Ludwig and Feliciano will come soon. 

“Japan,” I say, tentatively. “Can I help you with something or are you just curious?”

An obnoxious laughter makes me jump and my head swivels around to look at the white haired boy. Immediately, I lurch back in my seat – he had leaned forward and was far too close for comfort, now. Beside him, the brunette of the three is leaning forward slightly as well, arms resting on the table. He rests his upper body slightly against them, watching me through curious green eyes.

The red eyed boy completely disregards my question. “He's just as shy as West said!” He laughs. “And smaller than I imagined!”

His accent sounds distinctively German, albeit a slightly different one than that of Ludwig. I'm not sure why I'm comparing the two, however, so I quickly shake the thoughts from my head instead. Really; they were already making quite the rude impression. I can't say I have a very good impression of at least two of them, so far. Namely the Frenchman and the albino; the brunette has yet to make an absolutely terrible impression on me.

The blond touches my shoulder and this time I make an odd sound and scoot away again. “Please don't,” I mumble, glancing down with a sigh.

“ _ Ah, _ ” his lips curl up at the corners. “I forget you Japanese are odd about that kind of thing. I can't help myself, mon cher;  tu es beau.”

I frankly have no idea what he means and I'm not entirely sure I want to. I manage a tight, nervous smile. I don't doubt they've been waiting for an opportunity to corner me like this, but I've been spending all my time with Feliciano and Ludwig. A part of me immediately decides that Ludwig is the most likely reason they haven't approached until now.  At least the Frenchman isn't touching me for the time being. 

T he brunette grins and leans back. “Hee-eey,” he drags out the word in something like a sing song voice. “Your name is Kiku, yeah?”

I'm not sure I want to know how they already know my name. Nonetheless, I slowly nod and jerk to the side again as I glimpse the blond leaning a bit to _close._ Less hooked – _less curious_ , I internally rephrase – now; he's admittedly attractive and I don't doubt he knows it, but none of these three really don't seem to know the meaning of a personal bubble. The Spaniard continues before I can comment on it.

“Ask me about my dinosaur,” he says, grinning a lopsided grin.

My eyes are drawn to his shirt, which reads the same thing. I'm rather cautious to comply; who knows what he's planning? Though I don't even know their names, I find that I am very cautious about these three already. That nagging feeling that I should recognize the albino makes itself known again. I ignore it, because I'm quite sure I've never seem someone like him in my life.

Rather wishing I could shrink in on myself, I instead clasp my hands together in my lap and shift my legs away slightly because the blond's knee keeps bumping mine and I know that can't be a constant accident. Against my better instincts, I ask the brunette about his dinosaur. Apparently, he seems to have been waiting to be asked all day, for his shirt promptly comes up over his head and reveals a T-Rex head imprinted on the inside of the shirt.

 _Ah,_ there's the third bad impression I was missing.

Said Spaniard pretends to roar at the same moment I shriek and half fall out of my seat. Heat rushes to my face.

“P-Please lower your shirt!” My voice comes out much higher than I intended it to, but I hardly care right now.

“Oh?” The Frenchman chuckles and leans forward again, eliciting a rather undignified squeak from me. “Is little Kiku afraid of a bit of nudity?”

I don't have to speak for him to know the answer to that. The three of them laugh and I shrink down in my seat, hiding my face in my hands. When I dare to peek out, the brunette doesn't have his shirt pulled up anymore, thankfully. Abruptly, the white haired boy jerks up and half trips out of his seat, cursing. His beanie falls off and his necklace – a pair of silver and black dog tags that I hadn't noticed before – swings out.

“West is coming!” He says, snatching up his hat and taking off to one of the cafeteria side doors.

“See you!” The Spaniard laughs, taking off after the white haired boy and grabbing his headphones as they nearly fall off.

Now that I see his pants, they look to be something like a mix of track pants and leggings with pockets, a dark gray in color. His gray and black shoes squeak against the linoleum flooring as he sprints away. Beside me, the blond stands with a flourish and blows a kiss in my direction as he starts quickly after his friends.

“Adieu, mon cher!” He says with a wink and that same flirtatious smile, before he follows the other two out the door.

It strikes me as odd that they would abruptly run out like that, though I am not complaining. I'm more confused than anything, but the blond's farewell has me fairly flustered. Nonetheless, I turn to find that the cause of their retreat is none other than Ludwig and Feliciano, approaching the table.

Ludwig sighs as he drops into the seat the red eyed boy had occupied only moments ago and Feliciano sits beside him, in the seat the Spanish boy had been sitting in. Ludwig is shaking his head and irritation radiates off of him in waves. He mutters something in German that I clearly fail to understand and Feliciano is grinning, oddly enough.

“I apologize for not arriving sooner, Kiku,” Ludwig tells me, looking up. “I wasn't aware those three were targeting you. I suppose I should have expected it though.”

“It's alright,” I tell him; I'm just glad he came before they decided to push anything further. “Who were those three?”

Feliciano pipes in, now. “They go by the Bad Touch Trio!” He chimes. “Remember how I told you Luddy,” Ludwig sighs at the nickname. “had an older brother? It was the one with the white hair and the little chick on his shoulder although I guess you might not have seen the chick because his shirt was just as yellow as little Gilbird is- anyways, the brunette was 'Toni, or, uh, Antonio – Hernandez? - no, no, _Fernandez_ Carriedo. You know, the one I mentioned hangs around Lovino a lot. The blond one was big brother Francis! His name is actually Francis Bonnefoy and he's not related to fratello and I at all but he's kind of like a big brother to us even though he's a junior just like we are and so is 'Toni but Gil is actually a senior now which kind of sucks because that means he's leaving this year and-”

Ludwig only gives him a withering look and Feliciano immediately stops chattering again. My head is spinning; the Bad Touch Trio? What kind of odd name is that? More importantly, I want to know why they've taken such an interest in me specifically. Surely, there has to be other somewhat new students they can bother instead.

Now, at least, I realize why I felt that nagging recognition when Gilbert showed up; Feliciano had mentioned him just today. It baffles me that someone that seems as rambunctious as him is related to someone as straitlaced as Ludwig appears to be. Ludwig proceeds to advise me to avoid the three troublemakers, and I don't hesitate to take the warning to heart. That certainly won't be an issue.

I'm not entirely sure what to think of them and at this point, I'm quite sure I don't want to find out.

Ludwig's advice to avoid them is in my best interest. The subject is directed away from the trio of troublemakers and to classes and how I'm fitting in. I finally admit to them that I've already managed to make enemies with the possible valedictorian of our year and his boyfriend; Feliciano pales at the mention of Ivan, which hardly surprises me. Ludwig shakes his head at my sheepish confession.

Soon enough, with no trace of the three known as the Bad Touch Trio, the concern is temporarily pushed to the back of my mind. I do not doubt that it will resurface later, but for now I don't think about it.

Given that they arrived much later than me, I am the first done, despite being the slowest at eating. Feliciano is busy chattering to Ludwig about something that happened in one of his classes and I don't really think they'd notice if I left now. Nonetheless, I inform them where I'm going and both acknowledge me, before Feliciano gets right back to his story. I doubt I'll see much of them for the rest of the day.

I gather my trash and the box I keep my lunch in, along with my DS, go right back into my bag. I pull it over my shoulder and head out of the cafeteria. I don't think Yao will still be at the library, so I head in that direction, fully intending to spend the majority of the rest of my day there. Libraries are peaceful and I could do with peace right now. The route there is something I know I am going to grow accustomed to quickly. I already have it down and I do not doubt I will spend a lot of my spare time there.

It can be a home away from home, in a way. Books are comforting to me. Admittedly, I suppose I am a giant bookworm. Back home, I remember sitting home all day in a track suit in at least fifty different positions as I read. The memories are becoming nostalgic, already.

Still, there's something about this place that I am really growing to like.

As expected when I enter the library, the table Yao had previously been occupying is now taken up by a brunette with violet eyes that is dressed more like an aristocrat than anything. I shake my head and wander into the aisles of books, deciding to glance at another one or two. If I try hard enough, I can just take one off the shelf and have it done by tonight, before curfew.

I take my time browsing through the aisles and nothing in particular catches my interest. Finally, I decide to go see what the fantasy section holds; it's been a while since I've read anything of that particular genre. The library seems to be quite barren around this time, so I round the corner without much regard and run smack into another student. They, like most – if not _all_ – of the other students are bigger than me, so I am the one who ends up on the ground.

“Bloody _hell,_ ” the British boy starts, looking downright enraged.

Panic swells in me; I don't want to make _another_ enemy so soon. “I-I'm sorry!” I manage quickly and scramble to my feet, bowing deeply. “I wasn't paying attention, so I ran into you. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

The blond haired boy blinks slowly, seemingly at a loss for words. I glance up from beneath my hair. His silence either means that a crisis has been averted or I have managed to create an entirely new one. But then he waves dismissively and I sigh in relief, feeling like a weight is lifted from my shoulders.

“Well, yes, it's alright. I suppose I should be the one apologizing, actually. I wasn't paying attention either,” he tells me, green eyes curious. “So I believe we're both at fault. Apology accepted, nonetheless. The name is Arthur Kirkland and I don't believe I've seen you around.”

“I'm still somewhat new,” I admit. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kirkland-san. I am called Kiku Honda.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows – _if those could even be classified as eyebrows;_ I inwardly scold myself for the impolite thought – at the name, but he doesn't bother to correct me. Instead, he stoops down and picks up the books he'd been carrying. Luckily, it isn't too many. I pick up the one closest to me and hand it over to him.

“Right, then, ah, Kiku,” my name sounds odd, torn apart by his heavy accent. “were you looking for something in specific?”

“Not particularly,” I respond, gaze shifting up to the rows of colorful books. “I just couldn't find anything interesting in the other aisles, so I decided to come here and see what I could find.”

“Well, what about fairy-tales?”

He reaches up and pulls a book down, followed by a few others. I don't recognize the author – well, _authors._ The Grimm Brothers are unfamiliar to me, but Arthur seems quite pleased with himself as he gestures for me to take a look. I hesitate a moment, before flipping the book open and skimming a few of the pages.

Bluntly put, this is absolutely morbid.

Arthur laughs at my expression of horror. “Most of those fairy-tales that those cheesy Disney films come from? They're based off of The Brothers Grimm's stories- _Bloody hell, Alfred, stop texting me,_ ” he suddenly mutters, reaching into his pocket and clicking the power button on his phone before he continues. “They're absolutely amazing – albeit a bit morbid; I _do_ hope you have a strong stomach or a weak imagination – if you take the time to read them.”

“Ah, I see,” I murmur, nodding. “Alright, I'll give it a try. What are you reading?”

Arthur's eyes light up when I ask and he immediately launches into an extremely detailed explanation of a particularly complicated fantasy book. Nonetheless, I take the time to listen and fall into step with him when he gestures for me to come with him. We retreat to a table and sit with our books.

The rest of the day is spent in those seats, chatting about said books and reading them all the while. Arthur is a bit of a short tempered person, but he seems nice enough – to me, at least – and perhaps could be a potential friend. When curfew comes, we walk together to the dorms and say our goodbyes on his floor, two below my own.

Newfound fairy-tales tucked under my arm, I retreat to my own room for the night.

 


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeess, I'm a few days early (because school starts really soon and I wanted to get this chapter up first). So one of my friends and I came up with an idea recently; the tragic booty trio. It's tragic because they don't have a booty. 3 It consists of aph Switzerland, Japan, and England. Ahh, just a warning; this chapter is at least 99% dialogue (COUGHGOSSIPCOUGH). Warnings for minor language and conversations about sexual stuff.

Francis Bonnefoy finds himself very intrigued by Kiku Honda.

Perhaps it is the way the rather feminine boy shies away from his touch like very few others, the way he grows absolutely flustered at any flirtatious action or word, or his deliberate, careful way of speaking – it isn't at all hard to guess that Kiku is the type to carefully assess his words. He recalls hearing that the Japanese are typically very polite, but Kiku is ridiculously stereotypical and Francis deduces that he probably grew up in a traditional household or something. 

Francis prefers to think of himself as a gentleman, as the Frenchman is supposed to be. 

Two days ago, the Bad Touch Trio made their impression on the new student; Francis hardly doubts it will stick with the Asian boy. He'll probably try to avoid them, but they didn't allow it with anybody else and they wouldn't allow it with him, either. The three chose to skip class today, though they'll get hell for it tomorrow, indubitably. 

His thoughts stray from the dark haired student and it occurs to him that his entire room is upside down; when had he rolled over? The blue eyed boy assesses the other two in the room. Francis himself is laying horizontally on the bed, his feet hanging off one side and his head hanging off the other. 

His bored eyes shift to Gilbert, who is laying in what seems to be the most uncomfortable position, twisted up with the beanbag and reading something or another. Antonio is perched in Francis' rolling desk chair, straddling it and absently rolling back and forth. Antonio yawns and nearly topples back after the wheel catches a discarded shirt.

“Did you hear about Arthur and Alfred?” Gilbert is the one to break the unusual silence, gaze straying away from his page. “They're such chickens; I swear, even that jerk Vash's little sister would have more guts than the two of them. It's unbelieveable.” 

“No, no, mon ami, what's _unbelievable_ is the fact that Arthur still thinks sweater vests are in fashion,” Francis cuts in, rolling over and tucking his arms beneath him. “And with _khaki_ , no less! What's _unbelievable,_ Gil, is the fact that he absolutely refuses to take any sort of fashion advice, even though he dresses like last generations' grandfathers! Now _that_ is unbelievable!”

“Throw him in an old folks home,” Gilbert supplies. “Besides, if we should be talking about _anybody_ , it's West and Feli. I keep telling West to tap that but _no_ he insists that they're just friends...”

Unsurprisingly, other than the comment, he is ignored. Neither of his two friends care for fashion like he does, so they tend to just tune him out when he gets in those moods. Francis only rolls his eyes at them at this point. They've been friends since the fourth grade – or since he and Antonio were in fourth and Gil was in fifth – so he doesn't mind this too much anymore. The conversation shifts back to a certain blond athlete and the person with what Francis considers the most ridiculous eyebrows ever.

“They need to just get together already!” Antonio agrees cheerfully, leaning forward in the chair. “I mean, I guess they're kind of oblivious, huh? Alfred only thinks about football and burgers and uh...”

“Eyebrows,” Gilbert chimes in; Francis notes the moment Antonio loses his train of thought. 

The Spaniard perks up. “Eyebrows! Yeah, yeah, and he's just kinda involved in his books and I don't think he'd admit he likes Al. He's kinda one of those types who denies it?” He tucks his feet in and spins in the chair. “I don't see why they don't just go for it. It's obvious to _everybody_ but them.” 

Gilbert finally bookmarks his page and sets his book aside. Francis can't see the title from where he's laying, but somehow he feels like it's a nonfiction book of some kind. It isn't uncommon for Gilbert to be reading – he and Ludwig have more similarities than either cares to admit and everybody knows it. The white haired boy shifts to lay on his stomach on the beanbag.

  
“Oh please, Toni,” Gilbert snorts and bookmarks his page, setting aside the book and shifting to lay on the beanbag. “You can't talk. You _still_ haven't asked Lovino out.” 

The Spaniard huffs, not unlike a child, and Francis comes to his defense. “Oh, Gil, we all know you're head over heels for Elizabeta. _You_ can't talk either,” he hums, an amused smirk crawling onto his lips.

The albino goes red and sputters out some form of protest. “I-I am _not!”_ He huffs, turning his gaze away. “Besides, look who's talking, Mister _I Sleep Around.”_

“Not just a river in Egypt, Gil. Not just a river in Egypt,” Francis sighs, completely disregarding Gilbert's second comment.

Antonio looks confused. “Not just a-? The first river in Egypt that comes to mind is the Nile, but,” he pauses and furrows his brows. “The Nile... The- Da... Da Nile. Denial. Oh. _Oh._ I'm sorry, I must go.”

Antonio stands to leave, but he's quickly told to sit again by the other two in the room. 

Gilbert quickly realizes he's defeated and completely changes the subject. “ _Anyways,_ am I the only one that feels like uh, Lili – was that her name? - would be a total dominatrix?”

“Lady on the streets, freak in the sheets?” Antonio suggests.

“That is oddly kinky.”

“ _Gilbert,_ ” Francis covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. “She's _fifteen._ Vash would _murder_ you.”

“Please, you're probably thinking the same thing,” Gilbert mutters.

“I plead the fifth.” At least he hopes that is the right one; he finds that he still isn't entirely sure about American politics.

“Besides, I'm pretty sure Vash is a little too occupied with Princess Roderich to bother with us, if you catch my drift.”

Gilbert snorts and Francis grins cheekily, understanding quite well what the white haired boy was talking about. Antonio only rolls his eyes at the two. The subject changes again, though this time it's Francis who opts to move on; if only because he finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. Having these two as best friends did that to him, most of the time.

“Now, I won't mention any names, but I heard that a certain so-and-so slept with a teacher to get an A in the class,” he tells them, reaching up to brush his hair back behind one ear. 

Gilbert laughs. “Hell, it was probably you, Francis,” he snickers. 

Francis places one hand dramatically to his chest, gasping. “Moi? Why, I'm insulted! You _insult_ me!” 

“Ja, ja, I've got something better, though. I won't mention names either – where's the fun in that? - but _I_ heard that a certain so-and-so cheated on their boyfriend with his best friend _and_ his brother!”

Francis rolls his eyes. _This_ is going to get interesting, he knows. When they get onto these kind of subjects, it's quite possible for them to go on for hours. He notes a nagging subject at the back of his mind, but now is not the time to mention it. 

“Eh?” Antonio looks confused. “I know who you're referring to, but I thought she got knocked up by the brother?”

“Oh, I've heard that one, too. I thought it was the best friend?” Gilbert furrows his eyebrows.

Francis laughs. “Oh, please, I bet she doesn't even know. If you're referring to who I think you're referring to, then that girl will open her legs for anybody.”

“So would you, mi amigo.”

Gilbert whistles. “Shots fired.”

Francis sighs. “Rude.”

 _Can't live with them, can't live without them._ Truthfully, he finds himself wondering quite often how he had ended up with these two as his best friends. Despite that, he's quite glad that they all found each other; he hardly knows what he would do without them. Get new friends? Nonsense! Francis tells himself he will never admit to them how much he cares, however.

As much as he cares, they _don't let things go._

Antonio leans forward, eyes glittering. “Actually, there's something even more interesting,” he says.

This immediately draws the attention of Francis and Gilbert; Francis doesn't have to look at his friend to notice the mischievous glint to his red eyes, that Francis himself likely has as well. Antonio smiles now that their attention is fully on them. Though perhaps it's just something to do with the fact that they know each other so well, but Francis gets a feeling that they all know exactly what this is about. 

“I heard, from Feli, that someone dared to get on the bad side of Yao and Ivan,” he says, slowly, gazing between Gilbert and Francis. 

Gilbert grins wickedly. “Oh?” He says; he's just going along with it, because he knows exactly what – _who –_ Antonio is talking about. “ _That person_ must have a lot of guts, huh?” 

“Oui,” Francis agrees; a smirk slips back to his lips. “and having bravery like _that_ can only mean they're a _very_ interesting person.”

“I also heard,” Antonio continues, drumming his finger against the back of the chair. “that it was a certain new student. A Kiku Honda, if you would.”

Gilbert clicks his tongue and his grin widens. “Oh, I don't know, Tonio, the name doesn't ring a bell.” 

Francis' smirk tugs into a grin. Really, his friends are ridiculous sometimes. He can't say he's much better, though. All _bad_ things come in threes, after all. They didn't chose their name for no reason. The blond sat up fully, one leg hanging off the bed and the other foot propped up against the edge of the mattress so Francis could rest his chin on his knee. Antonio crosses his legs at the ankle and Gilbert is lounging in the beanbag now in a sitting position instead of laying. 

“What do you guys think about him?” Francis is the first to end to their little game; he wants to know.

Both Gilbert and Antonio remain silent for a moment. Francis doesn't push them, if only because he's well aware they're both contemplating their words. Gilbert thumbs through his book, eyes scanning the pages but never resting on anything. Antonio takes another moment and spins in the chair. The albino is the first to look up. He sets his book aside and sighs, leaning back.

“Well, first off, West is a killjoy. Just when we were having some fun, he _had_ to come along. But having him tell me off is even worse, so whatever,” Gilbert shrugs. “As for Kiku, he's definitely a complicated one, yeah? He won't even let us get close, but he befriended West and Feli so quickly. If we want to do anything, we'll have to take an entirely different approach.”

Antonio nods. “He's pretty different from most of the others we've handled. This is an all new ball game, honestly,” he pauses to collect his thoughts and purses his lips, green eyes shifting to Francis. “Even _Francis_ wouldn't be able to get this one.” 

“If I bothered to try, of course I could!” 

“Not this one, mi amigo."

Francis' blue eyes narrow dangerously. _That_ is insulting. Antonio seems to know he's crossing a dangerous line, for he looks away. But then Gilbert murmurs an agreement and Francis' gaze, bewildered now, snaps to the white haired boy. The fact that neither of his best friends believe he could handle something so trivial is absolutely hurtful. Now he knows his pride is at stake; this is a challenge.

“Mon dieu, do you both really believe that _I_ couldn't get him?” 

Their silence speaks for them. 

Francis straightens up and crosses his right leg over his left. The blond haired boy folds his arms over his chest and looks between his two friends. They look back at him, now, after exchanging a glance that he clearly understands after knowing them for so long. Francis knows they can't resist a challenge just as much as him.

“Fine then,” Francis drawls, accent growing a bit heavier as his voice lowers. “A bet. I bet the two of you that I _can_ do it. If I win, then Gil, you have to ask out Elizabeta, and Antonio, you have to ask Lovino out. If I lose, then I'll admit I can't do it.”

Now they seem interested. “A kiss,” Antonio says. “You have to get him to kiss you and you win.”

Gilbert grins wickedly. “And we won't get in the way, because this is already going to be hard!” He laughs that odd laugh again; Francis realizes they all have one.

Francis is about to protest when Antonio nods in agreement. “Gil and I will stay out of it, because it'll be hard enough without us interfering.”

“Fine,” Francis snorts. “Easier for me. So, it's a deal? No going back; going back means losing.” 

He stands and Antonio wheels closers so he can take one of Francis' hands; Gilbert grasps the others and they shake on it. 

“Deal,” Antonio agrees.

“It's a bet,” Gilbert says, and they all pull away.

Francis Bonnefoy shakes his head; his friends are underestimating him, again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A chapter from Francis' PoV (more or less). The third person writing in this chapter is intentional (might do his in first person, eventually). <3 I like changing up PoV and style a lot, so expect a lot of this. And uh, this chapter got a bit out of hand? I enjoyed writing it (a liiiiittle too much) though and found out one of my friends is really good at making up gossip, so she's officially my RGG (Random Gossip Generator). And on another note, the BTT are like a bunch of teenage girls and it amuses me.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen it yet on my tumblr, I'm also announcing it here; updates will probably be slow. Counting this one, I'm already four chapters behind schedule (I should be posting chapter 9 around this time, not six). School started a few weeks ago and we have this weird new schedule that I can't stand, to be honest. The only good part is that we get anime club every Friday and I have improv club on Tuesdays. Although, with the new schedule I have a little more time to work on outlines and stories on my phone, so when I get a break, I'll be writing like crazy. XD Anyways, without further ado, chapter six (even though it's probably bad).

The cherry blossoms will not last much longer.

It's fairly surprising they have lingered this long to begin with; they typically fall by mid to late July. I know they'll be preparing to bloom anew when spring arrives again though, so I decide I'll look forward to that. It's only late August now, so it will be quite a while before they return. It gives me something to focus on in the future.

So far, it's really just been an endless cycle of classes and clubs, though the latter has shown to be a nice change. Newspaper proves to be quite interesting with only Ludwig and Feliciano. They make quite the amusing pair, especially put together in the same room for long periods of time. I rarely see them apart, regardless.

I chew on my lip as I doodle an eye on the corner of the worksheet in front of me. It's been a particularly slow day and the numbers and letters are only a jumble on the paper, so my thoughts go elsewhere.

I think this is starting to become a way to just keep my mind off three _persistent_ troublemakers.

It does not surprise me in the slightest that the Bad Touch Trio absolutely insists on getting what they want. They strike me as rather stubborn people and true to my prediction, they are. The three are careful enough not to approach me when I'm with Ludwig and Feliciano; at least, two out of three are. I faintly recall their names from Feliciano; Gilbert is the white haired one, Antonio is the Spaniard, and Francis is the bold one.

At the thought of Francis, I sigh, receiving a curious glance from Ludwig in the seat beside me. Francis Bonnefoy proves to be just that – extremely bold. He's an intriguing person, granted, but that hardly changes a thing. He is the only one that dares to come near when I stick to Ludwig and Feliciano, occasionally even taking the chance of bumping my shoulder or flashing a flirtatious smile in my direction when passing. I'm really not sure why he seems so interested in me.

I don't suppose I consider myself to be a very interesting person.

Clearly, other people do not think the same, so far. It must be because I'm new. Ludwig had not neglected to tell me, shortly after my first encounter with them, that it isn't exactly uncommon for them to take an interest in the new students. Something tells me they've taken an usually strong one in me and I'm not sure I _want_ to know why.

Finding that I can't really focus on the math worksheet in front of me, I go to the teacher and request to be dismissed to the restroom. Really, I only want a moment to myself to clear my head and regain my focus so I can power through the rest of the day. Ludwig's eyes follow me as I receive my hall-pass and step out of the room. I don't doubt he'll be asking about it later, or at least wanting to ask. I haven't decided if I'll tell him yet or not. For the time being, I shove the thoughts to the back of my mind so I can attempt to lock them away for a better time.

There's something I like about this place, though. Perhaps it's the way windows line the halls like schools back home and give a perfect view of the outside fields. I pause at one of these windows and peer out, watching the leaves sway in the late August breeze. It brings a smile to my face, but a sense of homesickness follows. It's not an uncommon feeling, but it's quite seldom in comparison to when I first arrived here. I think I can contribute that to the friends I've made so far, if I have to be honest.

I don't doubt I'll take the chance to visit home in the summer, though. Most of the other students probably will as well, so I will not have too much of a reason to come back until school starts again. But that's far into the future – time moves so slowly, for me – so I decide it's better not to think about it for the time being.

I pull my gaze away from the window and continue down the hall, wondering why on Earth all the bathrooms were in the main hall and in the cafeteria. It's rather inconvenient to go all the way to the end of the hall and then some just to get to the restrooms. I walk slowly to stall for time, although I'm only riding on pure hope that I won't get in trouble for taking so long. The teacher seems to like me well enough, but I don't exactly have the excuse of being female to cover a long absence.

That isn't exactly where I wanted my train of thought to go.

I step into the main hall and footsteps – _running_ footsteps – immediately draw my attention. It occurs to me the universe must not like me very much. Francis Bonnefoy sprints out of one of the halls further down, with Antonio and Gilbert at his sides. A teacher is quick on their heels and the realization clicks; they're skipping class. I can hear their laughter from here and their mocking words as they keep ahead of the man chasing them.

None of the three appear to be clad in uniforms, but that's hardly my main focus. Behind them – it seems as though they enjoy tempting fate, because I'm quite sure that's one of the athletic coaches after them and he doesn't look too happy – the teacher is red faced and I picture steam coming from his ears. Francis salutes to the other two and continues forward, while Gilbert and Antonio part, going down separate halls. They'll probably escape up the staircases that reside at the ends of the connected corridors.

Honestly, I'm beginning to question my own intelligence. A moment too late, I recall the fact that I should probably hide before Francis notices me, or at least get into the bathroom before the teacher decides I'm skipping too, pass or not. Francis takes note of me first, if the way his eyes nearly light up is anything to go by. The blond doesn't falter in his footsteps as he slips his arm into the crook of mine and half drags me after him. He spins on his heel abruptly and carts me down another hall.

“B-Bonnefoy-sa-?!” I'm unable to get a protest out.

I've seen enough anime to know where this is going, and I have absolutely no intention to let it proceed. At least, that's what I tell myself as Francis closes us into an empty classroom and turns the lights off. I'm preparing to question him as to why he'd pulled me into this mess, but then my back bumps the wall directly beside the door and my senses become hyper-aware. Francis is _way_ too close for comfort. One of his hands presses firmly against the wall beside my head and the other secures itself over my mouth.

He's close enough that he's practically pressing up against me and I'm all too aware of my heartbeat in my ears. He isn't paying attention to me right now and I find myself rather thankful; I don't doubt I'm red in the face and even in only the light filtering through the little window on the door, it's likely visible. Francis is watching out that window, probably to see if the teacher had figured out where they'd gone. But he's half leaning over me to do it and I can feel the soft whisper of his breath on my ear, stirring my hair.

Inwardly, I curse my sensitive ears as I'm forced to suppress a shudder.

“Un, deux, trois,” he murmurs to himself. “quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix.”

He's counting, I realize. In French, but he's counting, nonetheless. His voice is low and nearly silent; even in this close proximity, I nearly have to strain my ears to pick up the sound. It occurs to me that he does this a lot. His counting is slow and deliberate, and he hardly blinks as he stares through the window, into the hall. Abruptly, he pulls back and practically flattens against me; I hold my breath instinctively, hoping he can't feel my heart practically hammering in my chest. It's absolutely nerve racking, being in such a close vicinity with someone.

I find myself counting along, albeit in my own language. He counts ten, I count to twenty in my head. Thirty seconds. Forty; _quarante,_ he's whispering. _Quarante et un, quarante-deux._ I fall into sync. _Yonjuusan._ It's something of instinct, though I'm not sure why. Inexplicably, I find myself slowly relaxing as the numbers go through my head. _Yonjuushi, yonjuugo._ Forty-six. Forty-seven. _Quarante-huit._ Inhale, forty-nine. Exhale, _gojuu._ The sound of footsteps fades down the hall, but Francis does not seem to be taking the risk of going out now, for he hardly pauses.

“Cinquante et un, cinquante-deux, cinquante-trois, cinquante-quatre,” he continues, slowly daring to peer out the small, rectangular window again. Fifty-five. Fifty-six. _Cinquante-sept. Gojuuhachi_. “cinquante-neuf... soixante.”

He steps back.

Immediately, the remaining tension flees my body and I stare at him with something of an incredulous look. I have half a mind to bite his hand, but I'm not sure where it's been, so the option is quickly pushed away. Before I decide on anything rash, he smiles almost apologetically and retracts his hand, letting it fall to his side. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts in quickly.

“Apologies, mon cher,” he starts.

Somehow, I don't feel like he's sorry at all, if his amused smirk and the look in his eyes is anything to go by. It occurs to me that Francis seems to be the type of person who does a lot of talking, but never really has anything to say. He's flirtatious, but somehow, I feel as though a lot of his words are empty. I find that I can't get a very accurate reading on him, so honestly, the observation could be utterly wrong. Regardless, I still find it's very hard to think and I'm all too aware that my face is probably red with a heavy blush. Despite what I think of him, he still manages to completely overwhelm me. Francis seems all too aware of this, for his smirk only widens.

“I couldn't have you getting me caught, oui?” he continues. “Now that the little threat has passed, I suppose I'll see you around.”

With a flourish, Francis opens the door and strides out, tucking his hands in his pockets and presumably going to search for Gilbert and Antonio. I'm left in the empty, dark classroom, half stunned and flustered, half trying to comprehend what kind of trouble I am likely to be in when I inevitably cross paths with the teacher that'd been chasing them.

Speaking of teachers, I recall the fact that mine probably expects me back by now.

I jerk up abruptly, inwardly cursing myself. How do you even forget you have a class? I don't even have to glance at the clock to know I've been gone for a few minutes too long. I really do just encounter the worst luck sometimes, it seems. At least, I can't say it's been the best since I've come here. Francis appears to see this all as a game – so far, all three of them seem to think of things as one big game. I'm probably too serious for my own good sometimes, but I certainly know better.

When I arrive back, I take a moment to compose myself outside of the door before entering and quietly retreating to my seat. The teacher crosses his arms and Ludwig shoots me a curious look, but I only shake my head as I slide into my seat beside him, picking up my pencil.

“I'll tell you later.”

Ludwig accepts the answer well enough, lowering his head to finish his worksheet.

When class comes to an end, I find that I have never been more grateful to be a very complacent student. The teacher does talk to me about my rather long absence, but he decides to dismiss it on the account that I don't make it a habit. Ludwig catches up to me in the hall later, Feliciano at his side as per usual, and I relay the entire story to the two of them.

It is only when I am back in the solitude of my dorm that I take a moment to think back to the earlier event. I can't recall ever seeing Francis look so serious, though somehow it fails to surprise me that something like that would be the _one_ thing he is serious about. Regardless, something about the entire situation makes me crack a smile and I want to laugh at the memory. The thought hadn't initially occurred to me at the time or for a while after – until now – but now I wonder why I never thought of it before.

Of course Francis Bonnefoy would smell like roses.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the kinda rushed ending. I didn't have anything else I wanted in this particular chapter. You know you ship a pair too hard when you have a lot of fun just making them count together like this. Proooogress maybe? On another note, I was jamming to the song that this fanfic is named after the other day and I just couldn't stop imagining these two. I wish I could draw, because I'd totally doodle a little comic of them to said song. But alas, writing is the only thing I'm even relatively decent at. //usingfanfictiontopracticemyFrenchforclasslike


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, I started this one big book of oneshots (as some of you may have seen). Some will be little scenes that aren't deeply (or at all) explored in the actual storylines, snippets from fanfictions that were written and never used, scenes from my fanfics at different PoVs I want to write (or are popularly requested by readers for me to write), ideas that didn't quite turn into full fanfictions (or ideas that I was going to turn into fanfics and then realized I already had about forty something fanfics in the works and decided to make into a oneshot instead because I still wanted to write it), little oneshots from other fandoms that I probably got bored or super motivated and wrote, little things I write when I want to try new styles, and requests. There might be the occasional two or threeshot, too. It won't have a regular updating schedule, though. Anyways, apologies for the late chapter again. I'm already five or six behind schedule and I don't have much of a chance of catching up until possibly Thanksgiving (seeing how many chapters I can write this week!), Christmas break, or summer and even then I'll probably have work, so who knows. I'm still going to try to stick to my every-two-weeks update schedules, but school and a lack of wifi is preventing that for the time being, so I'll make no promises (but I'll still try to write the chapters during that time so I can just post them all once I get wifi). And now, chapter seven (which might be a little different since I'm trying a lot of new styles lately).

September brings a cold chill on the air. The August heat flees in favor of the familiar weather of autumn; all  chilly breezes,  the scent of coffee in the air,  red and brown leaves ,  sweaters, scarves,  and boots . 

Admittedly, I quite like the fall. I like all the seasons in their own way, of course. It rather disappoints me that the cherry blossoms in the schoolyard have long since fallen, but I'm glad to know that I'll be able to see them bloom here next year. Already, sitting in the stretching shade beneath the swaying pink blossoms has become sort of a relaxing thing to me. It always was back home, so I suppose it was just the thing I needed to begin feeling comfortable here.

My sixth period class is the only one I share with Feliciano; it's art, of course. The teacher is still quite eccentric and lenient. She doesn't have a set idea of what 'art' is like most people do. She thinks of everything as art, from the fluid movement of paintbrush across canvas to sculpture and contemporary. The result is typically freedom to create what we like.

Feliciano is painting something on one of the walls. I can't tell what it is from here, but for once his face is the very epitome of concentration and his eyebrows crease slightly right down the middle. He's squinting at the mixture of colors on his palett e, it seems. S omehow, he managed to get paint in his hair  and on his neck and around  Lovino's  wrist when he reaches out to pull the other over and ask questions. I'm quite sure Feliciano hasn't noticed,  though . He's rather like a bird, I note, or a cat without most of the grace. 

He figures out what he wants and I turn my gaze back to my canvas. I start it out as a pencil sketch, simply allowing the winding gray lines to form across the starch white surface. They stretch upwards and curl down towards the opposite side of the paper like fingers and now I'm picturing it. Now I'm picturing the delicate pink flowers covering the branches, leaning over a walkway or a house and waiting for someone to walk by and admire them or sit beneath them.

I watch as the branches form across the page and then my paintbrush moves in careful strokes, forming pink petals, drifting down. I imagine, remember the branches waving in the warm breeze, casting their petals down on people below. It's these trees in particular, though, that I know hang over a small, traditional Japanese house, somewhere just outside of Tokyo. A boy used to sit under them all the time when he would paint or write or simply relax.

They feel like home.

Feliciano's arrival startles me; he pokes his head around the edge of the canvas so abruptly that I probably would have fallen right  off of my stool if I hadn't managed to balance myself at the last second. Feliciano seems oblivious to this, but Lovino, standing behind him, looks considerably more annoyed than he  had  upon entering the room in the first place.  It occurs to me that Lovino rarely has an expression other than that of annoyance, but he's not a bad guy, honestly. Once or twice, I've spoken to him and though he initially seem s rather wary, he calm s down enough to carry on a civil conversation.  I can't say we've spoken enough for me to have developed a full opinion of him, though. 

I 'd have a harder time believing they were siblings if they hadn't looked so much alike. 

“ What are you painting, Kiku?” Feliciano asks in that rather musical voice of his, tilting his head. 

He clasps his hands behind his back and leans over my shoulder, half perching on his toes.  I instinctively lean away, still finding myself rather uncomfortable to the boy's constant close proximity. I keep telling myself I'll get used to it eventually, and I honestly don't doubt I will, but I know it will take a while. Even Ludwig still never quite looks completely comfortable and I  _ know _ they've known each other for a long time. 

T hen again, Ludwig and I are fairly awkward people.

“The sakura trees back home,” I tell him,  without looking up from  the brown and pink-white streaks across my canvas. “ They hung over my house and I used to spend a lot of time under them.”

“ Until you came here?” 

“Until I came here,” I confirm. “But even so, I speny a a lot of time under those trees you showed me when they were in bloom.”

Feliciano is the type that wants nothing more than to help others to the best of his ability, even if sometimes it doesn't exactly help. But the way his grin lights up his face in that moment makes me wonder how often his efforts are actually appreciated.  It's a rather upsetting thought; the Italian tries  so hard. I admit I didn't have the best first impression of him, but now I wouldn't want anybody but him and Ludwig as my two closest friends here. They've helped me more than I can say, and still do.

F eliciano doesn't seem to have noticed that Lovino retreated while he was talking to me and now stands clear on the other side of the room. If I have to be honest, I didn't notice the other leave, either. I catch myself thinking of the one thing I always promise myself I  _ will not _ think about; the three students that call themselves the Bad Touch Trio. 

Another thought makes me pause. I recall the time they were running after first making contact with me in the cafeteria, and the albino – Gilbert? - had mentioned a “West” was coming, shortly before Ludwig and Feliciano joined me. Feliciano told me that Gilbert and Ludwig were brothers – I  _ still _ have trouble believing that – so I assume Gilbert must have been addressing Ludwig. 

“ Feliciano-san?” I ask, lowering my brush into the murky water and turning to look at him. 

He leans back abruptly and his smile slips as his golden eyes widen a fraction, almost as though I startled him. “Huh? What? Oh, that's me! What is it?” Feliciano quickly recovering and grinning widely.

The  little slip startles me; for a brief moment, he almost look s baffled, if not utterly lost. I compose myself again, straightening up. “ Why does Ludwig-san's brother call him West?”

Feliciano blinks slowly at me for a moment, before brightening up. “Oh, I know the answer to that one! Okay, okay, so you know how Gilbert is the older one?” He doesn't give me the chance to reply before plowing on. “So basically what happened was Gil was born in East Germany and then his family moved a few months later and Luddy was born in West Germany! So Gilbert has kinda taken to calling him West since they were kids and I guess it's just a way of showing his affection, kinda like I call Lovino  ' Lovi, ' ” he flinches as said older brother hisses on the other side of the room. “ _ oops _ , but anyways Gilbert actually told me that story one time so you're in luck, Kiku, even though I'm not sure why you wanted to know and  _ oh _ , Ludwig would be  _ so _ embarrassed if he knew so like don't tell him you heard it from me because he's actually super bashful and- oh, I should stop talking. Sorry~!”

“I-” I honestly knew a lot more than I initially wanted, but I suppose that was fine. I'm not entirely sure where to store the information that Ludwig is supposedly a bashful person, though. “-um. I-It's fine. Thank you, I think.”

“ Your problem!”

Feliciano promptly reddens and his eyes grow dramatically wide. I know my face twists into something to show my confusion. The Italian waves his hands rapidly and nearly smacks me in the process, lips opening and closing, but no words come out. It strikes me that Feliciano, despite his ridiculously outgoing personality, is a very anxious person.

“No! I-I mean- What I meant to say was- I went to say you're welcome, but then I also was considering saying no problem and it just- I'm sorry!”

He speeds off and flings himself at Lovino before I can even react, so I am left gaping and staring where the brunette had been no less than ten seconds before.  _ What just happened?  _ I am honestly very sure that I have never been so bewildered in my entire life.

The shrieking of the bell rips through my thoughts and I glance back at my unfinished painting, sighing. I decide to return after classes to finish it. I confirm it with the teacher, and true to my prediction, she's fine with it. Feliciano is already gone; he all but sprint s out of the room when the bell rings.  I quickly decide it's best not to tell Ludwig of this little incident. 

M y seventh period science class always tends to drag on. The teacher is a rotund man with a monotone voice that practically attempts to lull you to sleep. It really isn't the best when combined with the physics class he teaches.  I try to pay attention, honestly, but hardly anything he says makes sense and I usually just go figure everything out later, anyways. Half the rest of the class is asleep and he has yet to notice, going on about forces on incline planes or something. 

I'm honestly not sure anymore.

By the time we're released by the mercy of the bell, his terrible handwriting takes up the two white boards of the room and the entire class is none the wiser on the subject. We hurry out before he can think to give us homework.

I make my way back to the art room. A few others are scattered throughout the room, though I don't really recognize any of them, so I conclude they must be in her other classes. One is obviously in sculpture; he's a tired looking boy with shaggy, slightly wavy, chin length brown hair, and sleepy green eyes. His half complete sculpture looks suspiciously Greek in style, to me.

I return to my canvas after retrieving my now dry painting, setting it up and beginning to finish up.  The trunk becomes delicate streaks across the canvas and the flowers bloom in beautiful shades of pinkish-white. Inexplicably, I find myself smiling. I love the fact that I can always carry a piece of home with me; at least in my memories. If the teacher doesn't request to keep this – she seems to do that quite a bit with her students' art, and nobody knows what she actually does with it – I think I'll hang it in my dorm. 

I t will go over my bed, I decide as I paint the sides of the canvas so it doesn't look empty. It will be my piece of home, the – other – trees I lay under here.  The painting doesn't take too long for me to finish; I just put a few last touches on it and give the sides some time to dry so I can paint the bottom, too. 

U pon finishing and signing the lower right corner, I wash my hands off at the classroom sinks and put my painting away. The teacher appears to be occupied attempting to wake the sleepy looking boy from earlier. Oddly enough, I find that he reminds me of a cat.  I'm not sure why. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar head of  shoulder length blond hair. Francis sits on the other side of the room, legs crossed at the ankles and body leaning precariously forward on the stool. It doesn't seem as though he's noticed me yet; his attention is  centered solely on the sketch in front of him, though I can't tell what it is from where I stand. His blue eyes seem unusually focused, something I have yet to see from him. I suppose I can't really judge him yet, since I don't know him very well and I honestly don't intend to attempt such a thing.  As of late, at least, they haven't been bothering with me as much. At least, two of the three  members haven't. 

I decide it's better not to take the risk of finding out what  said third  member  is drawing and instead I turn, hurrying out of the room. 

Halfway back to my dorm, it clicks that something is missing.  Somehow, it completely slipped my mind to grab my bag and I'm just now realizing that, yes, I left it in the art room. With a heavy sigh, I turn to go back. 

The quick walk back is short enough since I've learned to navigate the halls. I round the corner back into the art hall and immediately note the very blond I've been avoiding. He probably notices me right away, but I look straight forward as I walk by him. A brief, daring glimpse reveals him to be gazing straight forward as well, something of a mischievous smile perching on his lips and something else tucked under his arm. In the brief moment, it seems to be a book, but I don't get a chance to look long enough.

He keeps walking and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, ducking into the art room and picking up my bag. It bothers me a bit that he didn't bother saying anything like he usually would, but I can't say I'm protesting. It's nice to have a break.

I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder and head back to my dorm, ignoring the nagging feeling that it's a bit lighter than usual.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooww, ahaha, I'm sorry for this pathetic excuse of a chapter. So, I keep forgetting that Kiku still addresses some people by their last names, and others by their first names. And that he only addresses them as such when speaking to them. Like, Osiria. Why do you do this. Why. Apparently, I like making everything harder for myself. Oh well. On another note, I skimmed through some of the old chapters (which I need to reread soon, anyways), and wow Kiku is a sassy child. I love it. Anyways, I'm sick and should actually be writing chapter twelve currently, so my sickness has given me an excuse to sit on my arse and attempt to write five or six chapters during my Thanksgiving break. I feel like most fanfiction writers are all “oops I'm sick sorry can't write” and then I'm over here like “yOOOO I'M SICK LET'S GET SOME WRITInG DONE WHEN I SHOULD BE RESTING.” So 1/6 chapters done, let's see if I can manage this. As a final word... Same, Feli. Same.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my friends (who also happens to be one of my beta readers) and I decided to make set writing times while we're on vacation. So we've set a specific hour every day (depending on the day, of course), where we have to put down our phones and we aren't allowed to pick them back up or respond to any messages during that hour; all we're allowed to do is write. So we tested it yesterday and it worked out pretty well, so we decided to start doing it during vacations (since school is too unpredictable). So I might actually start getting crap done. XD

My sketchbook is missing.

The realization makes my blood run cold. Panic swells in my chest and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. _No, no, no._ I'd _just_ had it yesterday and I hadn't even taken it out of my bag, so there is absolutely _no_ way it just vanished into thin air like this. I am quite sure I have never come this close to losing my mind.

When I was a child and my parents already knew I would be a very artistic person, they'd bought me a book for drawing and coloring. I'd lost it no less than a month later and cried for hours because I liked it so much. After that, I'd never lost a single art book. Even now, I have all of my old sketchbooks and the like in a bookshelf back home. I'd brought two with me; my current one, and an empty one because the current was nearly out of pages.

It isn't as though I keep anything bad in my sketchbook. I would never be able to draw things like that. Regardless, it's very important to me and it unnerves me not to have it. To me, it's another piece of home and losing it is throwing me off badly. I spend the next hour practically tearing apart my dorm room in search of it and I'm sure the rooms below, above, and on either side of me are wondering what's going on by now.

Upon concluding that it's not, in fact, buried in my room somewhere, I barely pause to throw on my uniform and repack my bag before I speed out to check a few places before class starts.

I don't stop to look at the teacher's shocked expression as I barrel into the art room, half out of breath. I'm really not a very athletic person when I'm not pacing myself, but then again, that's a _lot_ of stairs to sprint down, only to resume running down the hall. Typically, I would avoid breaking those rules, but they're the last things on my mind right now.

The art room is the last place I remember having it. Yesterday, when I came back to finish my painting, it was still in there. I remember seeing it when I opened my bag to grab a sharpie so I could scribble my signature in the corner of my painting. I don't recall taking it out, but this is my best bet so I take some time to look around.

Class starts in about fifteen minutes and I have no luck in the art room. It isn't there; it isn't near my easel, the art teacher shakes her head when I ask about it, and it isn't anywhere else I think to check, either. I know if I go through my classes without it, I won't be able to focus. It's already making me nervous and irritable and I don't want to take that out on anybody.

My next destination is the library and I rush past the very confused looking pair of Ludwig and Feliciano, only barely managing to get out a quick, “I'll explain later!” to them when they attempt to question me.

A few surprised students scramble aside as I burst into the library. I pause to apologize, before hurrying over to the librarians. Much like the art teacher, neither of the librarians have seen it and nothing has been turned into them.

“Thank you,” I say, spinning around on my heel and deciding to use what little time I have before class to check around the library myself.

The shrieks of the bell makes me want to scream, too. I haven't seen a single trace of it and now I have to go to my first period history class. I won't have time to search again until lunch. I have until third period when I have to face Ludwig, but until then I can avoid the two of them to keep from taking anything out on them.

I like to think I don't get angry very easily. I don't; honestly, it's more sassiness than anything. I have a good temper in comparison to some of the ones I've seen and no matter how much people get on my nerves, I don't really yell at them. I typically prefer to remove myself from the situation to avoid making matters worse.

My first period is an entirely different case. Even the slightest irritability is a very uncomfortable emotion to me, so I try not to get into situations where I'm bound to feel that. That emotion is unavoidable right now, though.

Yao feels the need to comment on it, but when I grow uncharacteristically snappy, he sees sense and finally backs off with a roll of his eyes. I'm beginning to wonder if I can get out of having to deal with him _again_ in third and fourth period by smacking my head against the desk hard enough.

My classes seem to be determined to drag on painstakingly slowly. By the time my third period finally rolls around, my teeth have torn through my lip at least twice and I'm desperately trying not to restart my old habit of biting my nails.

“My sketchbook is missing,” I tell Ludwig, when he drops into his seat next to me.

He scrutinizes me for a long moment and I drum my fingers against the desk. _Stop looking, stop looking, stop looking._ He does, with a nod.

“I see.”

The silence that follows makes me want to rip my hair out and perhaps scream a little. It would probably help. I'm only growing increasingly worried; maybe I'll check the office during my lunch break to see if anybody has turned it in there. Hopefully the students here are trustworthy enough to at least do _that._

I'm beginning to doubt it, honestly.

I think Ludwig notices my change in attitude, because he's very careful the rest of the class period and doesn't say too much. Fourth period drags on without event, surprisingly; if Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio notice my mood, they say nothing of it. If anything, the three seem to have no interest in me anymore and it pleases a part of me to know that I won't have that to deal with any longer. Now if I could just find my sketchbook, my life would be just perfect.

Fifth period just drags on and I break the lead of my pencil at least three times. I'm not usually such an impatient person, but I can't check the office until after this class. Once the bell finally releases us, I pick up my too light bag – I _knew_ it had felt a little light, yesterday, but I had ignored the nagging feeling and I shouldn't have – and hurry out of the room.

The office is easy to locate at the entrance to the school and I go in, going up to the front desk and repeating the exact same question I asked the librarians and the art teacher before the lady at the front desk. She pauses and turns to check a drawer, shifting through it for a moment. If it isn't here, I don't know where else to go.

She shakes her head and apologizes. My heart drops. Giving her a halfhearted thanks, I turn and exit the office, checking my phone when it vibrates. It seems Feliciano and Ludwig are going to be late again, unsurprisingly. It gives me a chance to compose myself, so I'm not complaining.

I take my seat at our usual table, in my same corner seat, laying my head down. I don't really have an appetite right now, but the cold table against my cheek is a bit relaxing and helps me think a bit clearer. I still have my last period class to check and my art class will give me a chance to relax, I hope. It occurs to me that there might still be places in my dorm I haven't checked, or maybe someone I know found it and hasn't run into me today to give it back.

Elizabeta, Feliciano, Arthur, and Lovino come to mind, just as a body drops into the seat across from me.

A thick, _familiar_ book thunks against the table and my head snaps up to focus on it. _Mine._ The instinct is immediate and my hand shoots out to grab it, but a chuckle reaches my ears and it's pulled out of my reach. It occurs to me, in that moment, that none of those four people would even know what my sketchbook looks like. I look up, only to come face to face with Francis, who is leaning unnervingly close. He holds my sketchbook just out of my reach, lips curled into that mischievous smile of his. He's alone, I note, but a quick glance past him reveals Antonio and Gilbert not-so-subtly watching from another table.

It was rash to think they were through with me.

It clicks that the book I saw Francis walking away with the day prior must have been my sketchbook. It's no wonder he looked so satisfied and didn't even glance at me. He already had everything he needed.

Francis' lips curl into an irritatingly handsome grin. “Ah, ah, ah,” his tone is almost disapproving and he holds it further out of my reach as I dare reach forward. “Hasn't anybody ever taught you it's rude to snatch things from other people's hands? I happen to quite like these drawings, you know. I spent quite a bit of time flipping through them and they're all very lovely.”

Francis leans forward, _too close_ , and I immediately lean back. My gaze darts to the book, held a good distance out of my reach. He knows exactly how to drive me back, so I don't have a chance at grabbing it. Francis is cornering me between a rock and a hard place and he knows it.

I want to shout at him. _Don't you know it's rude to steal things right out of people's bags and go through it without their permission?!_ But the words lodge in my throat. I don't want him to decide not to give it back at all. My pieces of home are too precious to me to lose them like this.

“Say please,” Francis tells me.

“Please,” I don't hesitate, almost desperate. “Bonnefoy-san, please, give it back to me. I don't think you understand, it's very precious to me.”

I realize, a moment too late, that I probably should not have mentioned that. His piercing blue eyes spark with something wicked and I feel as though they're staring clear through me.

“Oh?”

_That was a mistake,_ the orbs seem to say, smiling the same smile that graces his lips. Francis always seems to have that smile on. It's as though he always knows he's one step ahead of everybody else. Right about now, I honestly don't doubt that he usually is. He is several steps ahead of me and now he's simply laying his trap. I'm walking right into it, I  _know_ I am, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. 

Francis knows this, too.

“I don't know, mon cher, I quite like it,” Francis drawls, keeping the sketchbook out of my reach and tauntingly flipping through it. “I might keep it.”

I dart out of my seat and lunge around the table, but Francis is quick; he half rolls on top of the table and sits facing me, knees raised. He has a very challenging smile on and he keeps his arm stretched behind him, holding my sketchbook away. His other hand is stretched out towards me with one finger extended upwards and the others folded in as a sort of 'wait one moment' sign. He crosses one leg calmly over the other, as though he fully planned to be sitting on a table today.

A part of me shudders at the fact that he probably did. His reputation got around, that was for sure. 

People are looking over now and it makes me shrink. I grip the edge of the table, staring at him incredulously. He keeps smiling  and I find that I'd really like to slap it clean off of his face right about now. He acts far too natural about these kind of things and I wonder how often he actually does this to people. 

“You're quite adorable when you're angry, mon petit lapin,” he comments, chuckling.

Heat prickles up the back of my neck and I start to move to grab the sketchbook again, but he's having none of it and I'm forced back to my standing position at the end of the table. This is probably the most inappropriate place I could possibly be standing right now.

“It would appear we've come to a standstill, mon chèr,” Francis informs me, with the slightest tilt of his head. 

I've about had enough of him and his silver tongue. “What do you  _want_ from me?” I demand. “ I just want my sketchbook back.”

He straightens, as though the words are exactly what he's been waiting for me to say. “A date,” he says. “This Saturday.”

“A _date?!_ You're holding my sketchbook hostage to get me to go on a _date_ with you?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds very stupid, no? Unfortunately, my dear, I know it is the only way you would agree. You are a man of your word, I believe?”

I have never despised that part of myself more than I do in this moment. I have three choices. My first option is to resume trying to get my sketchbook back, at least until Feliciano and Ludwig come to assist me. I don't know when they'll return, though, and Francis can easily get bored before then. My second option is just to forget about it. Reject Francis and lose my sketchbook. It doesn't sound very appealing. My third option is to agree and very reluctantly go on Saturday, because I am a man of my word, but get my sketchbook back.

It isn't an impossible decision. I know what I'm going to say. Francis knows what I'm going to say. I  _know_ that he knows, because that annoyingly perfect smile of his  doesn't budge . When I sigh, he only smiles and straightens up slightly, sliding off of the table  at last. Most of the people slowly look away.

“I'll see you on Saturday then,” he tells me, holding out my sketchbook.

“Yeah,” I murmur, taking it back and flipping quickly through it to make sure nothing is missing. “See you then.”

He saunters over to his friends, just as Feliciano and Ludwig come into the cafeteria. They find me standing at the end of the table, sketchbook clutched to my chest and a forlorn look on my face.

What did I just get myself into?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like I wrote two pages of this after that hour I talked about before, and then for some reason I just got up and made a chocolate cake? I dunno, man. Panicky Kiku is entertaining. I don't see him losing his temper unless he's just really, completely freaking out over something. Francis is a douche canoe rn, I'm sorry (I love him, honestly, it was just a necessity). Is it obvious I like writing Francis though. And Kiku speaks the words of every high schooler ever. Maybe screaming would help a little. You scream, I scream, the police come... It's awkward. I don't know, this chapter might not even make any sense. No wonder sick people don't write. I should know better by now but like whatever. I feel kind of bad for my two beta readers 'cause they gotta deal with this crap before it's presented to you guys. 2/6 chapters done, four more. I got this (maybe).


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY AM I STILL SICK AHFKJEFKEF... is a rhetorical question because I know exactly why I'm still sick. This is what I get for not getting a bunch of rest and going outside into the cold. So one of my friends used a twenty one pilots picture on me earlier. It was some lyrics to Semi-Automatic (“I kinda like it when I make you cry”) and I just, “me in a nutshell.” Ah, well. Anyways, here's chapter nine, we get to see Kiku s u f f e r over this entire “date” thing. Wee lamb.

I have never in my life despised a Friday the way I despise the one that follows the Thursday of the sketchbook incident. It drags on painfully slowly, practically mocking me. The inevitable Saturday outing looms like a shadow over my head and my mood gradually sinks increasingly lower, until I'm practically berating myself for managing to get in this situation in the first place. If my friends, or any of the other people I speak to, have actually noticed, none of them are commenting on it. I suppose it isn't the most uncommon thing for me to get in these odd moods, though, so it isn't surprising.

Now that I think about it, I've started becoming a bit more social since coming here. I can't say I mind it, but I still need my alone time to recover from people. Spending all my time around others wears me out, but I suppose it's expected. After getting involved with Ludwig and Feliciano, I'd begun wondering what my reason was for rarely associating with other people back at my last school. 

I remember that reason, now. 

If I'm being honest, the whole date – even the _word_ just makes me want to wither away in pure embarrassment - thing tomorrow isn't even the scariest part. No, I can tolerate that, with a bit of suffering. I'll just treat it as though I'm hanging out with a friend and _not_ who was possibly the most flirtatious and _touchy_ student in the entire school. This whole date thing isn't looking too appealing either, now that I actually think about it. But all in all, that's not the worst part. True, I can't back out, but I got my sketchbook back. Besides, maybe I can run faster than he can. Then again, while Francis doesn't at all seem like the athletic type, I already know – regretfully, through experience – that he spends a lot of his time running and escaping from angry teachers. And still, the outing thing isn't even the worst part.

No, the worst part, _by far,_ is Francis. 

Francis Bonnefoy is hardly a subtle person. He's a very amorous man and he makes it known. I've seen girls and guys and every gender in between swoon over him. Admittedly, he's very handsome and he knows it, but sometimes it just gets out of hand. He clearly wants to spread the love and doesn't seem to know when to stop. 

I may just be bitter over the fact that he continuously winks at me every single time I happen to look up. It's barely into fourth period – I've never realized how many classes I shared with him until now and I am going to _scream_ – but I've already lost count of how many times he's winked at me. It just terrifies me now. I know he's a flirtatious person, but this is really just growing ridiculous and somebody is going to question it soon. If there's one thing I just don't want anybody to know about, it's this – I refuse to call it a date anymore – _outing_ thing.

I'm deeply regretting my decision of the prior day. I should have kept stalling a little longer; Ludwig and Feliciano had come in _right_ after I agreed. Granted, it means I have my sketchbook back _now_ and not later. All that's left is to psyche myself up to survive an hour or two with Francis. Hopefully he isn't planning anything absolutely terrible or too long. I'm not sure I could handle an entire day.

The so call date – _outing_ with an _only-kind-of-not-really-friend_ – is scheduled for tomorrow and I have yet to actually mention it to Ludwig and Feliciano. Granted, I've informed them I'll be busy Saturday, so I won't be able to hang out with them. They probably have plans of their own, I conclude. I probably won't tell them at all. I really just don't even want to talk about it. I'll call it taboo and move on with my life.

I find I'm too grateful this class is a study hall, because I keep worrying myself into a stupor. Everyone else is too busy talking to pay too much attention, but in my position I can just see Francis, a few seats back, looking directly at me.

One day, I swear I'm going to slap that irritatingly handsome grin right off of his face. I really will. Then I'll probably apologize afterwards. I sigh; this whole threatening thing really isn't going to work out for me. The most I can threaten is Yao's spot as valedictorian and perhaps throw his salty attitude right back into his face. Now _him_ , I'll give a run for his money. 

My opinion of Yao Wang is very conflicting.

I suppose that's rather irrelevant though, so I don't really dwell on it. Maybe if I can keep this up, acting as though Francis' staring isn't bothering me at _all_ , I can trick him. And myself, but that's irrelevant too. With another forlorn sigh, I pull out my recently reclaimed sketchbook to draw until the bell releases me from this dreadful period. None of the Bad Touch Trio know the meaning of the word whisper and I can hear them talking about me from here. 

It becomes a game to see how many times I can say dreadful in my head before the bell rings and effectively silences my thoughts. It's no wonder I don't draw and overthink at the same time. Turns out I'll start writing what I think and the end result is an entire piece of paper in my sketchbook covered in the word, 'dreadful.' 

_How dreadful._

I would laugh if I wasn't internally losing my mind right now. 

Fifth period, unfortunately, flies by. I spend my lunch time in the library, quickly finding that I have no appetite. Arthur joins me, and he doesn't bother questioning my motives. Sixth period crawls by far too quickly and I'm dropped into my last class, one that I yet again share with Francis Bonnefoy.

It's painfully slow.

When I'm finally allowed to stumble back into my dorm, my head is spinning and I just want to bury myself in tea and video games. It's going to be a restless night. They're not particularly uncommon for me, though. Everybody always tells me I'm usually so calm, but my mind is constantly racing at a hundred miles per hour and it rarely shuts off long enough for me to get an adequate amount of sleep. It's something I've become used to, I suppose.

A few hours drag on, full of video games and music and shows and two or three cups of tea. Ultimately, I worry myself to sleep, curled up at the foot of my bed in a hoodie, sweats, and socks that I probably could have slid around the bathroom tile on.

The screaming of the birds and the warm sunlight filtering through my curtains – it seems I forgot to close them the night prior – wakes me in the morning. It's only seven, but Francis never specified a time and could easily show up in the next five minutes. He would just have to wait, in that case. Maybe he already showed up and left when I didn't answer. 

It's doubtful. 

Reluctantly, I drag my pitiful self out of the comfort of my bed – _I'll be back, my love, I swear it_ – and go about getting ready. First things first, a shower is definitely in order. I shed my hoodie and dump it in the hamper, where it's joined by my socks. A part of me is glad I thought to bring my small coffee maker from home. I don't drink coffee very often, but the quick caffeine kick will do me well today. Usually, I'd settle for tea, but that takes a bit longer so coffee will have to do today. 

I set it up to brew while I shower. 

I don't like western style clothing that much. Hoodies and sweats I can live with; they're very comfortable, but I don't suppose they'd be appropriate for a day out in the local town. I could probably get away with a hoodie, actually, but it would probably get hot. 

Ultimately, I decide I'll just bother going through clothing after I shower. It isn't like I have very much to choose from; I only bought a few outfits before I moved here. 

In and out of the shower and back into my room, I don't take too long to figure out an outfit. I have one pair of sneakers, so I suppose I'll be wearing those. I settle for a pair of dark jeans and a light gray short sleeve shirt beneath a loose, thin, red flannel. I start to button up the buttons and ultimately decide to leave the top three and the bottom one unbuttoned. It isn't at all comfortable to me, but it isn't like I brought much Japanese style clothing with me. Regardless, it probably would have been weird to weird a yukata into town and I don't want to be stared at more than I'm already going to be. 

It's nice enough, at least, and Francis isn't allowed to complain because this is his fault in the first place. I put the excuse in the back of my mind for later use, because if I'm doing this thing, I'm not doing anything that makes me uncomfortable. 

I'm gulping down my coffee when the dreaded knock sounds. I could break my word, honestly. I really, really could. I'm beyond tempted, but I've never done such before and I don't intend to start now. Besides, I obviously can't escape through my door and I honestly don't think I'm capable of leaving through the window. My dorm is too high up and there's no trees or anything I can use to climb down. With a sigh, I turn to open the door a crack. 

“Just wait a moment,” I tell him, dropping down on the edge of my bed. “I've got to put my shoes on.” 

He hums in acknowledgement and I know he's watching me without needing to look up. I tug the sneakers on – western style shoes are so uncomfortable and I didn't know how they always managed to wear them – and get up, looking up at Francis. 

His posture is as relaxed as always. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door frame patiently. It didn't seem as though I'd ever had a chance to get out of this. 

Francis' hair is swept back into a ponytail that currently falls over his right shoulder and his side fringes are swept aside and one is tucked behind his ear, but I feel as though they fall forward a lot. I take a brief moment to observe his outfit. He's clad in a white shirt that has an enlarged form of the 'Hello, my name is' name tags on it. Trouble is filled in where the name would typically go and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at this. There's a pair of headphones around his neck and I nearly miss the necklace that rests under it, but it vanishes into his shirt so I can't really see what the charm is. 

Francis has suspenders attached to his low rise, dark, denim jeans, but they're hanging down around his thighs instead of in their rightful place over his torso. The bottom of said pants are tucked into a pair of black boots. The flaps stick out slightly. Another quick glance when he straightens and unfolds his arms reveals a terry wristband around his right wrist, decorated with what I recognize to be the French flag. I have never met anybody more French acting than he is. 

Actually, I've never really met anybody that was French until him. I do hope he isn't a very good example of his people. 

I have a nagging suspicion that his necklace is the same Eiffel Tower one I saw him wearing the first time they harassed me. It turns out Francis is a very predictable person, actually. I'm not going to ask about the charm, of course. 

“Ready to go?” He asks, grinning. 

I sigh, wondering how many time I'd done so in the past three days. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!”

“I didn't think so. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiku's like whatever at this point idk. Could be better. Okay, okay, but like hear me out. Agender Liechtenstein. OR GENDERFLUID LIECHTENSTEIN. My friend and I were discussing that the other day and I'm like yes yes much genderfluid very agender. And I headcanon Kiku as a taoist actually, but like I don't really go into religious stuff 99% of the time. I have quite a few headcanons, to be honest, but they constantly change around depending on the fanfic. None are really permanently set. I considered putting something about it in this chapter, but eh. 3/6 done I got thiiiis. I'm so glad I didn't decide to do NaNo this month or power writing through these chapters would be a lot harder. Wow, so I'm too lazy to rewrite A/Ns I wrote in November, so.


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I still have this dreadful (chapter nine word, anyone?) cough and it's giving me hell. On another note, I've been completely cleaning out my room so I can change stuff around and I keep finding so much stuff and I just feel like America's Storage Room cleaning. Gotta pause every five minutes and think about the memories. XD And by the by, have I ever told all of you how ridiculously grateful I am for you? No? In honor of Thanksgiving (regardless of the fact that this was posted waayyy after Thanksgiving), I am grateful for my readers (also for my two betas and all of my friends, thank you guys for putting up with my shit <3). Cx Without further delay, here's chapter 10.

_Oh no._

Francis grins the smuggest grin I've seen him wear so far. He looks far too comfortable on his death machine, the black headgear of doom dangling from his fingertips. I'm chickening out; I'm most _definitely_ chickening out right now. I don't even care if I'm going back on my word, there is _no way_ I'm getting on that contraption. 

“I _refuse_ ,” I tell him, shaking my head and putting both hands out in front of me, as if they were a wall between us. 

He rolls his eyes when I step back, but his grin only widens. “Kiku, it's just a motorcycle. Come on, you're already here. It's too late to back out.” 

That grin is mocking me now. “N-No way! You said nothing about this!” It becomes a struggle to avoid slipping into my native tongue. Maybe if I can distract him for long enough, I can escape. It was never too late to back out in most situations, after all. 

Finally, Francis just laughs. It isn't his usual, rather lecherous laugh, but something that's truly humored. “Alright,” he says. “The hard way, then.” 

“The hard wa-?” 

Francis reaches forward and abruptly pulls me onto the motorcycle, shoving the helmet on before I can so much as protest. “Hold on!” He warns, before the vehicle lurches forward and I'm forced to hold onto him with one hand, fixing the helmet with the other. 

Usually, I'm rather indifferent to people. Right now, I absolutely despise Francis more than anything. Francis is probably amused by my terror, or maybe the slight shaking of his surprisingly well muscled frame – I never intended to get this close to him, but I'll admit to myself that he has a nice enough body and he probably knows that – is from my tight grip.  

It occurs to me that Francis must only have one helmet, and that I am currently wearing it. He doesn't have one on and I catch myself hoping that he's _very_ good at driving these with another person on the back. 

“Please don't crash,” I mumble, gripping onto his waist tighter and finally daring to lift my head and watch the road. 

His amused grin comes back, full force. “What's this? Is mon loup worried for me? You know, I can't hear you very well when you speak so softly in that helmet! It's a shame; you could be confessing your undying love and I probably would not hear!” 

“Bonnefoy-san, please just focus on the road,” I tell him, sighing at the blond's antics. He's no better than a child, most of the time.

Francis falls silent, much to my surprise. An almost thoughtful expression crosses his face and it makes me wonder how often this happens when he's alone, or when he thinks nobody is looking. The quiet is always fine with me; I just didn't expect to get any with him around. The roar of the engine becomes a sort of background noise and I focus on the fabric of Francis' shirt clutched in my hands and on the road and cars we speed by. 

It isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be; actually, it's quite enjoyable. Francis is a careful enough driver.

“Did you know,” Francis says, abruptly, startling me out of my stupor. “that I've only crashed once before?” 

I don't know why he's telling me this and honestly, he doesn't seem to know why, either. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he switches lanes, double checking for cars. He goes on without me needing to prompt him. 

“It was shortly after I got my first motorcycle, actually. I've been driving these almost as long as I've been here in America. Anyways, a car rounded a corner and clipped me pretty good. Got a scar from it, but I'm pretty good at hiding that.” 

“Why do you hide it?” I ask him. He has my attention now. 

Francis smiles, but there's something almost pained at its edges. Perhaps I'm just imagining it. 

“Because it's not at all beautiful,” he says, and we don't speak again after that. 

~*~ 

“Horror,” I say again, crossing my arms. “This entire thing is your doing in the first place, so you aren't allowed to complain.” 

“You're so cruel, Kiku,” he sighs, finally giving in and buying two tickets to the horror film instead of the cheesy romantic comedy he'd clearly been planning on seeing. 

I didn't expect either to be very good, so I went with the horror option. Francis gets in the line for popcorn and drinks while I peer around at the movie posters, making mental notes of the ones that seem interesting enough. Francis returns, toting popcorn in one arm, two drinks in the other, and is holding a box of candy in his mouth. 

“That's very unsanitary, Bonnefoy-san,” I sigh, reaching and removing the candy. 

He grins. “Francis.” 

“What?” 

“You're not in Japan anymore, remember? We call each other by first name here.” 

I hesitate. True, my customs are considered strange here, but they're still natural to me and habits that old are hard to break. I don't mind calling Feliciano and Ludwig by first name, if only because they're my friends, but it still feels rather odd. Dropping honorifics is another matter entirely, especially since that's typically between family or lovers. 

“Fine,” I agreed. “Francis-san.” 

“Just Francis!” 

“I refuse to drop the honorifics.” 

Francis probably would be crossing his arms if he could. “Why?”

“Because where I come from, that's something that really only family and lovers do.” 

“Even better!” 

“ _Bonnefoy-san.”_  

“No, fine, fine, I'm sorry! Francis-san is fine!” 

With a huff, I take our tickets to the man blocking the way to the theaters. He takes them and directs us to theater four. Francis follows close behind me and I open the door, letting him go in first because of all the food he's still carrying. He finds good seating and I take the one next to him, leaning back and waiting for the movie to start.

The movie is, overall, very gruesome. It isn't off to a very good start though. Francis keeps distracting me; I'm quite sure people do not typically reach for the popcorn at the same time and bump hands as often as we are. I quickly give up on popcorn. It isn't that good anyways. 

The second time, I catch his attempt. Francis looks far too casual with his stretching, gaze pointedly focused on the movie. His arm lowers towards the back of my chair – and my shoulders – and I sigh in slight irritation, leaning forward. Just like a child, he settles for pouting until the movie gets more intense. 

American horror films have never really scared me. This, of course, is very likely the reason why I end up having to pry a terrified Frenchman off of me when it's finally over. 

He tries to play it off. “Just making sure you didn't get scared.” 

 _Yeah, alright,_ I roll my eyes and let it slide, being more lenient that I should be. He turns on his heel and leads the way back out to his motorcycle. It's a sunny day and a lot warmer than it had been this morning, so I roll the sleeves of my flannel up to my elbows and climb on behind Francis, accepting the helmet. Hopefully this is all he planned for now and we're returning to the school.

When we pull out of the parking lot, he doesn't turn in the direction of the school.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see. I think you'll like it.”

Somehow, I doubt he even knows what I like, but I fall silent anyways. My eyes trace the lines of his hair that aren't in the ponytail and whip at his fair skinned neck, and I catch myself thinking about the scar story he told me. At least he's far more human than he tends to act. In the short time that I've known him, he's always acted rather arrogant and as though he was untouchable, but at the same time, he never quite acted as though he was any better than the rest of us. 

Francis is more of an enigma than I initially thought and it makes me all the more curious. I shouldn't be, I know – I should be worrying about getting through this and then somehow avoiding him for the next two years – but there's something about his eyes that seems to reflect people back at themselves and I want to know who _he_ is.

My thoughts occupy me until we pull into another lot, with multiple stores and other places around it. Francis zips across the parking lot to a specific building and I want to laugh when I see the sign. Am I that obvious?

Inside, the arcade stretches far back into the building and is a lot larger than it looks from the outside. Excitement bubbles in my chest and Francis, halting beside me, grins as he looks around.

“Hey, Kiku, I challenge you to a round of Dance Dance Revolution!” He decides, taking his hands out of his pockets and spinning around to face me.

I can't help the grin that touches my lips. “Oh, you're on.”

The challenge finds us on the game, both aggressively trying to out-dance the other. In real situations, I could never really dance. I'm not much of a dancer, save for a few Japanese style ones. This game is easy enough, though; it's simply a matter of being quick enough to get the steps without stumbling.

“Switch!” Francis says, and neither of us hesitate as we take over each other's dance pads.

Ultimately, I'm the decided winner. Francis spends the next five minutes sulking, before he challenges me to a game of air hockey. The next few hours of the day are spent in the arcade. He wins a few games, I win most of the others. It's surprisingly fun, but Francis proves to be just as competitive as I tend to be. I find myself grinning and taunting along with him in a way that sets me more at ease than I've ever been around the blond. 

When the hours finally catch up to us, we've just finished playing a round of a Jurassic Park game. It turns out neither of us have eaten today, other than the movie theater popcorn, so we resolve to grab some food before we head back to the school.

“Let's play one more and then we should go,” Francis suggests.

“What about Street Fighter? I can beat you, again,” I say.

His grin returns. “Challenge accepted, mon cher.”

Our arms bump as we get the game started and for once I don't completely flinch away. I settle on Hayate and Francis takes his time choosing and eyes Chun-Li for a while, before finally settling on Skullomania instead. I fall into an instinctive rhythm, fingers flying over buttons and just twitching to move my character around. Back home, I played Street Fighter, among many other games, more than I should have. It came with being a shut-in, I suppose. 

“ _No!_ ” Francis half slams one hand down on his buttons as his character's health drops to zero. “Merde!”

“I win, _again,_ ” I hum, stepping away from the game. 

Francis rolls his eyes and turns away from the game. “We should play some games together again, sometime. I'll beat you then, I swear it.” 

I find myself perfectly fine with the idea, actually. It startles me how much has changed over the past few hours. I'm actually enjoying myself even after how much I was dreading this. It really isn't too bad at all. 

“Alright,” I agree, following out. “You can come to my dorm sometime for a rematch. I have a ton of games.” 

“Mario Kart?” He asks, getting on the motorcycle and handing me the helmet. 

“Mario Kart,” I confirm, putting it on and slipping on behind him. 

He grins. “You're on.” 

The ride after is mostly wordless. We stop briefly for food and I find out that he's actually into anime. It was the last thing I expected from him, but at the same time it somehow fails to surprise me. It seems I'll get along with him better than I thought. 

It's late afternoon when we finally head back towards the school and I wonder where the time had gone. I'm still rather surprised at how much fun I had. I don't usually go out like this, but perhaps, with my new friends, I might attempt to get out more. Usually being so social all day or even brief encounters with Francis wears me out, but today I feel more energetic than usual. 

Francis is still smiling when we're almost back to the school and I want to laugh. His cheeks _must_ hurt by now. A little thought makes itself known in the back of my mind. It's not the most important thing right now, but it's there and it only makes me that much more curious about this boy.

Perhaps Francis isn't such a terrible person, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Kiku, if only you knew. XD Okay, so I actually type these as I'm working on the chapter and I don't actually do anything to change them, regardless of when the chapter is actually posted. So I actually finished four of these during break, but I wasn't able to actually post these last two until now. So if whatever I talk about in these seems weird or late, that's probably why. I should start putting dates on these. Diary entry A/Ns. Hm. So there's actually quite a bit in this chapter that I hope to bring back later, but I won't reveal what all it is. Some of it you can probably guess, actually. I might write a drabble about the Kiku-protesting-getting-on-the-motorcycle scene all the way to the movie theater scene from Francis' PoV, actually, but it'll end up in my little oneshot book so if I do that, I'll let you guys know here. 4/6 done! Also Francis is a big baby and I quite like it. Also three S Kiku. Sassy, salty, sarcastic. I love FraPan's dialogue. I love FraPan. Mm, FraPan. Am I the only one who imagined Francis was totally looking at Kiku's (very tragic, wee lamb) booty when they were walking to their theater? Just saying. I've been feeling the need to test more styles lately, so don't be surprised if I write in third person or do something different eventually. Fair warning, and I do like to see opinions on writing styles because I'm never sure what I like or what works best for me.


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes, c'est moi, Osiria. I'm not dead, I swear. So, I know I'm about eight chapters behind right now and I apologize deeply for that. I got involved in my school musical and then from there school in general just took off and consumed all my time. Then I lost all motivation to write at all, but now that I have free time again I realized how much I missed it and I'm gonna try to churn out these chapters as much as I can. Internet issues will prevent me from posting them when I finish them, but when I can, I'll likely post them in bulk so there will be multiple new chapters.

“Please don't.” 

Francis frowns down at my palm; it’s the only thing that currently prevents him from leaning any closer to me. He opens his mouth to begin protesting. 

“But-” 

I shake my head, remaining very solid in my stance. Usually, I prefer to simply keep things to myself – I do a lot more thinking than a simple 'yes' or 'no' can convey – but I know Francis won't take such a rejection without explanation. He seems like the type to think people are always playing hard to get, but I'm really just not sure what goes on in his head. His eyes almost seem to reflect me back at myself. 

“I understand that you probably considered that a date, Francis-san,” I continue, “but I'm going to be completely honest with you. I only went because you wouldn't give me my sketchbook back; I have absolutely no romantic interest in you whatsoever. I had fun - honestly I did and I wouldn't even be completely averse to another outing someday - but I would deeply appreciate it if you would please refrain from attempting to kiss me.” 

Francis' shoulders drop and something like a childish pout fixes itself onto his face. It astounds me how quickly he can jump from one attitude to another. He doesn't seem at all pleased by my blunt words, but it's honestly the least of my worries at the moment. I've seen enough of Francis to know how he is and he isn't exactly the type of person I'd like to lose my first kiss to. (All things considered, I don't know _what_ type of person I'd like to lose that to. I suppose it happens when it happens.) When it seems as though he's given up, I bow instinctively. 

“Thank you for understanding. Have a nice evening.” 

I don't wait for Francis' reaction and spin around on my heel, hurrying away. He mumbles something in reply, but I don't quite catch it and asking twice makes things awkward. Regardless of the fact that I did, admittedly, have more fun than I thought I would, I am still an introvert and interacting with others for long periods of time saps my energy. Thankfully, now it's time to recharge. 

The walk back to my dorm seems to drag on for my aching feet – I can't recall the last time I spent all day out and about; I never was the most social person back home – but I heave a relieved sigh when I reach my room and remove my shoes upon stepping in. Shedding my flannel and half throwing myself onto the bed, I pay no attention to my phone as it comes out of my pocket. I have half a mind to plug it in, but the thought is dismissed as I gladly sink into the bed's welcoming embrace. I can live without my phone charged for a day. It's not like we're usually allowed to use them during class. 

The reunion is interrupted by said electronic vibrating incessantly against the sheets where it fell. 

Heaving another sigh, I roll over and squint at the bright screen, wondering who on Earth would message me at this hour. Ludwig and Feliciano are both early to bed (though that's where the similarities stop; Ludwig is early to bed, early to rise, while Feliciano is early to bed and late to rise – I differ from both with my late to bed, early to rise routine), and I know Arthur wouldn't even _begin_ to consider messaging someone at this hour, but I can't think of anyone else who would have my number. 

The first thing that comes to mind is the realization that I do not, in fact, recognize the number. I have a habit of memorizing phone numbers I have in my contacts, if only for my own sake if I were to lose my phone and needed to contact someone. I don't even recognize this one. The second thing that comes to mind is the thought that I'm quite sure I never put anybody in my contacts by the name of _Majestic Stallion._ (I mean, Jean much?) 

I have a sneaking suspicion I know exactly who it is.

Opening the message, my eyes scan the multiple text messages on the screen. _Bon soir! C'est Francis, mon chèr._ I roll my eyes at the little heart at the end of the sentence, before resuming to read the next one. _I put my number into your phone and got yours when you were distracted playing a racing game. Also, you should consider changing your password; it was ridiculously easy to guess._  

Well, at least he isn't illiterate. I can't resist the tired smile that creeps onto my lips. Somehow, Francis Bonnefoy, in the course of a single day, managed to make me change almost my entire opinion on him. (Although, I do make a note to change my password in the morning, because I'd rather not have him snooping around my phone, even if I don't particularly have anything to hide. I happen to like my privacy.)

Rolling my eyes, I change his contact name from _Majestic Stallion_ to _Francis-san._  

~*~ 

“Oh, Kiku! You missed it; Luddy and I had _so_ much fun on Saturday! Speaking of which, what did you do that day~?” 

“Ah, nothing in particular, Feliciano-san. I just went into town.” 

Monday becomes a game to see just how long I can avoid providing specific answers to Feliciano's questions and Ludwig's equally as curious glances when Saturday is brought up. Thankfully, I don't actually share too many classes with either of them, though I spend my entire third period math class avoiding Ludwig's casual attempts to bring up the weekend. Fourth period is a nice break; it's just study hall, so I'm not doing much of anything. Having already finished my homework, I opt to instead get out the origami paper I thought to bring with me today. 

I can't recall the last time I folded origami, but my fingers move deftly until I'm holding a small paper crane. Just like when I was a child, origami doesn't fail to sooth me. My fingers fall into the familiar pattern of creases and neat lines and putting things together until an origami rose joins the crane on my desk. 

“Well, _that_ looks interesting. What are you doing?” 

Francis' voice reaches me and habitually, I lean to the side before I turn to look at him. (For this instinct, I find myself rather grateful; otherwise I would have been nose to nose with him. Or worse, but I refuse to go into detail thinking about that.) He raises an eyebrow and I turn my attention back to the fresh sheet of paper on my desk. 

“Origami,” I inform him, beginning to fold it into whatever comes to mind first. 

“I see.” He's silent until I finish the ninja star. 

Francis moves away, and for a moment I think he's staying away and going back to talking to Gilbert and Antonio, whom I know probably watched the exchange from the other side of the room. (Briefly, it occurs to me that they seem to be watching quite often when Francis interacts with me, but I dismiss it as them being his two closest friends.) But then Francis returns with a chair in tow and straddles it, leaning against the back rest. 

“Teach me,” he requests, using a smile I have yet to see.

Francis has quite the range of colorful personae. Regardless, he has a particularly curious expression and I finally decide that it can't hurt to show him the basics. I'm still reluctant, but Francis seems eager enough, so I get out the extra paper and give it to him. 

“Alright,” I agree, and pick up the ninja star I'd just folded. “I'll teach you how to do this one, since it's fairly easy. But don't go around taping them and throwing them at people.” 

“What about-” 

“Yes, Francis-san, that includes Kirkland-san.” 

“How about Gilbert and Antonio?” 

“...As long as they don't choose to blame me, since I'm the one teaching you.” 

His boyish grin doubles in size. “Deal!” 

“Okay, now pay attention,” I tell him, picking up my sheets. 

He follows suit, snatching up the two piece of paper I gave him. I begin to give him instructions on how to fold the paper and which way to fold it. Francis follows diligently, eyebrow creased slightly down the middle in the most focused expression I've ever seen him use. 

Actually, I saw about the same amount when he tried to beat me at video games Saturday. It proves to be fairly amusing. 

Soon enough, he grins at the completed object in his hand and hooks his legs around the chair's back (front?) legs, before he leans towards me. 

“That was easy! Show me how to do the rose!” 

“Francis-san, the rose is a far more complicated one-” 

“You wound me, Kiku. You wound me with your lack of belief. Come on, it'll be fine, oui?” 

I frown slightly, but slowly nod. “I suppose,” I murmur, getting out the needed paper and passing it to him. 

I wasn't expecting to use this much, so the paper is mostly gone, now. Francis pays just as much attention this time, seeming almost enraptured by the way I make the rose. He tries to follow, but the rose style I like doing is a lot more complicated than the simple one. Francis is frowning when I look up again, unsurprisingly. 

“Wait, do that step again,” he half demands, looking up briefly, then back down at his rose. 

With a sigh, I repeat myself. As the effort to teach Francis complicated origami drags on, he seems to grow further and further frustrated, until there's times where he silently gets up, paces away for a moment, and then returns after putting his hair up or down, depending on what state it had been in before. 

“And then you fold this-” 

“Mon dieu!” He drops his barely half completed rose on the desk and throws his hands up in exasperation. “This is impossible! How in God's name do you have the patience to sit here and make these?” 

A smile tugs at my lips. “I've been doing them for years, Francis-san. I'm not exactly a social person. Patience _is_ a virtue.” 

“Regardless, they're ridiculously complicated!” 

He throws himself into complaining and I purse my lips. A part of me had long since realized that he could be rather childish, but I certainly had not been expecting this after seeing him so eager. Instead of upsetting, however, I find it _beyond_ amusing. Finally, I simply can't suppress my laughter any longer and I set down my own rose, leaning back in my seat and covering my eyes with one hand as I laugh. 

I barely realize when Francis abruptly goes silent; it feels nice to laugh again. I can't immediately recall the last time I laughed this hard; to the point where my sides hurt and I'm struggling to catch my breath. Francis is just staring at me; I glimpse it when I peer out from between my fingers and barely note a red dust rising up his neck. 

When I finally manage to stop, Francis is still silent, staring at me, with his lips parted slightly. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and even the sound of the bell cutting through the air doesn't make him budge. Finally, I just shake my head and pack up my things, getting up and heading towards the door once my sides don't ache anymore. 

“Oh, Francis-san,” I pause with one foot in the hall and glance back at him, half chuckling. “Keep practicing, alright? I promise you'll get it eventually; it took me a while, too. I'll see you in science, so until then.”

I step out the door, still smiling to myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then there's me, trying out writing styles again. So like, don't be surprised if I randomly switch PoVs constantly. Ah, sorry for the rather rushed ending; I honestly just wanted to get through the end of this chapter because it kept giving me absolute hell until like Francis starts complaining. Shorter chapter, but Francis almost got that kiss. XD Imagine if he had; the story would already be over! But no, it's just beginning. We have quite a ride to go, dear readers.


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, wow, hello. I... have no words? I'm super sorry I haven't been updating; I haven't been in the best place for motivation, so I've really been struggling to write lately. But recently I've sort of sorted out some things and I'm still trying to figure out others, but for the time being, I'm going to be trying to get back into my usual updating schedule of a chapter every two weeks or so. Thanks to all of you who stuck around.

_ Oh. _

The sensation of his heart staggering in his chest is not exactly familiar to Francis Bonnefoy. Oh, he wishes it had stopped there; Kiku's laugh changes Francis' definition of beauty and steals the air straight from his lungs. The sound is mellifluous and for a fleeting moment, Francis forgets himself.

It's the first time he's ever heard the Japanese boy laugh and  _ he,  _ Francis Bonnefoy, is the cause of it.

He can say for certain that is is the first time he's ever heard Kiku laugh; he knows for a fact that it's a sound he wouldn't -  _ won’t  _ \- forget. Even in the times he's seen the boy around, Kiku Honda only wore the ghost of a smile that never quite reached his dark eyes. It seems more genuine this time, and Francis has to remind himself how to breathe.

And very abruptly, he realizes that it isn't, in fact, the first time he's experienced the feeling.

It had been the prior Saturday, actually, caused by the exact same person. Though perhaps more subtle, he recalls his heart tripping up at the sight of Kiku Honda's smile. Perhaps it’s the way Kiku plays hard to get; he refuses to succumb to Francis’ charms so easily - Francis, for one, has never had anybody he pursued refuse to kiss him outright. 

For just a moment, he pauses to wonder just how he’d ended up wrapped around Kiku’s finger. It was supposed to be the other way around, as Francis had intended it. That was how the bet was meant to play out; Francis would win like always and they’d move on. But somehow, a part of himself has grounded itself; Kiku, unknowingly, holds it tight in his hand. As much as that part of Francis fights to break free, the struggles grow weaker the more he interacts with Kiku. 

Still, in the end, Francis does not enjoy things that are unfamiliar to him - he’s not entirely fond of  _ change _ . A part of him recalls hearing about familiar sensations in books and cheesy romance films that he’s seen with girls (and a few boys, for that matter), but he just bites his tongue and pushes the entire idea out of his mind. No, that’s not something he wants to think about, to consider. 

It occurs to him that class is long over and, while he’ll more than likely skip his next class anyways, he doesn’t exactly want to loiter about over here. Gilbert and Antonio will be waiting, he knows, and it wouldn’t be the first time they’d ditched him for being late. He draws himself quickly out of his seat and sweeps up his bag, glad the teacher is occupied by another student. Thus, without being spotted, he manages to slip out of the room and into the hall.

He almost immediately notes Kiku down the hall. Unsurprisingly, the other boy is talking to Ludwig and Feliciano, clutching what appears to be a Health textbook to his chest. He’s smiling that faint smile, but he shies away from Feliciano’s boundless energy and thoughtless touching habits. It strikes Francis that he seldom sees Kiku talking to anyone else. Given, he certainly hadn’t taken Kiku to be very social, but he  _ had _ still been here for a decent amount of time.

Only briefly, a part of him dares to wonder if Kiku would, in fact, truthfully address  _ him _ as a friend. 

His thoughts are half knocked out of one ear as two familiar weights barrel into him from the side and he very nearly loses his footing, managing to recover in an awkward stumble. Immediately knowing it’s Gilbert and Antonio, he turns to give them some choice words, but the albino and Spaniard already have his arms and cart him rapidly down the hall.

Francis just sighs and doesn’t bother protesting.

“This book is trippy,” Gilbert says later, when the three of them are in his dorm, skipping their fifth period. 

Francis likes his art class, but he has a rather nagging suspicion that he’s found himself a new muse, and he knows for a fact that Kiku is in art too, so he doesn’t want to risk any art being seen. 

Gilbert is sprawled over his bed, half hanging off, with a book called  _ Amity _ in his hand. Francis hasn’t ever read it, of course - he doesn’t read too often - so he opts to just let his head fall back against the bean bag chair he’s claimed. Antonio looks up from where he crouches by Gilbert’s crate of video games, Gil’s old Gameboy in hand. 

“Eh?”

“It’s like-” Gilbert flips over onto his stomach, “Amityville Horror, I guess? It’s based on the Amityville horrors. Like, listen to this.  _ Here is a house; bones and beams of hardware, stone foundation smooth, solid as the core of- _ ”

“Wasn’t that just a conspiracy or something?” Francis interrupts, only half listening. “Like OJ Simpson?”

His thoughts are elsewhere and his gaze is on the ceiling, so he misses the way Gilbert whips around and gives him the single most  _ offended _ look. 

“It is  _ not _ a conspiracy! The DeFeo family was  _ totally _ murdered in that house! And for the record, OJ  _ definitely _ did it and you can’t tell me otherwise!”  

“Next you’re going to tell me aliens are real,” Francis snorts, really just messing with Gilbert at this point.

Gilbert squawks indignantly, fully prepared to retort, but Antonio chooses this time to draw his attention away from conspiracies and back to video games, leaving Francis forgotten and left to his thoughts. He won’t admit it, but he’s not the type to enjoy being alone with his thoughts; it’s why he constantly makes a point of tormenting  _ someone. _ It keeps him distracted. 

(Francis vaguely recalls that he’s got one of those ninja stars in his pocket; he fishes it out and hurls it with deadly accuracy at the back of Gilbert’s head. The paper meets its mark and Gilbert just sort of gives the blond a dirty look.)

He settles for eavesdropping on Gilbert and Antonio, though they aren’t talking about anything particularly interesting; a video game he vaguely recalls hearing about, but never played. The subject shifts to Lovino Vargas and Francis can’t help it; he tunes out again, the tendrils of nagging thoughts reaching up and pulling him back in.

There’s something unnerving about the entire situation; he doesn’t like the pull of his mind, his body when Kiku is around as of late. A part of him almost regrets the prior Saturday - that, he can pin as the start of this entire thing. A means to an end. Still, perhaps it’s a phase; Kiku is a new personality to him. Francis tends to associate with other flirts, people who are open and respond well to any advances he makes. 

Kiku isn’t like that. 

Francis feels weary, suddenly, and he wants nothing more to sleep, to ( _dream of that laughing face)_ gather his bearings and push this little tug of his heart _back, back, back_ where it belongs - buried. There’s too much at stake for him to lose this bet - he’s got pride, a _reputation_ to uphold. 

“-So I accidentally sort of asked him out on a sort of date,” Antonio is saying.

Francis is vaguely aware of the dialogue, but it’s muffled, tucked in the back of his head. Gilbert howls with laughter and Francis’ gaze shifts just enough`to catch the beet red stain that covers the tan skin of Antonio’s face. He can guess what they’re talking about; Lovino still, no doubt. 

“What did he say?” Gilbert asks, struggling to catch his breath.

“Um,” Antonio hesitates, “w-well, he didn’t say no?”

“Go with it then, my friend,” Francis throws in, pretending he’d been listening the entire time. 

He hasn’t, of course, but they don’t need to know that. Pretending is his strong point. Antonio seems to consider his suggestion, and Gilbert picks up where Francis left off, attempting to give the Spaniard dating advice despite pining towards someone himself. Francis really doesn’t understand how they can both be so reckless and open, but have absolutely no courage to ask people out.

He’s only being mildly hypocritical.

His full attention slips back to his thoughts, and he thinks about Kiku teaching him origami, and the way his  _ laugh _ made the frustration immediately dissolve. He pauses to remind himself that this is just a dare; he’s forcing himself to take it too far. 

_ You’re scared. _

He’s not. He just doesn’t want something like him making himself believe he has a  _ crush _ to get in the way of winning this. That isn’t how this works. He’s not  _ scared _ of anything. 

Francis takes a deep breath, tries to force his mind to go blank. Gilbert and Antonio’s conversation breaks in again, and this time Francis allows it, lets it distract him. He chimes in when necessary, but his eyes remain closed and he’s not actually fully listening. 

There’s still a part of him that’s trying to go back to the subject that’s simply settled itself in his subconsciousness, patiently waiting for the right time to slip forward and take its spot at the front of his mind. Francis doesn’t  _ intend _ to let it, but somehow, in a moment where Gilbert and Antonio fall silent, setting up a game on Gilbert’s TV and Francis can no longer use their conversation as a distraction, it succeeds. 

_ You’re going to lose, _ something in the back of his mind  _ taunts _ , but he pushes it away as soon as it appears. He  _ refuses _ . He’s never lost before and he won’t start now because of some  _ boy _ . 

“Franny?” Antonio’s voice breaks in and Francis blinks once, twice.

He hadn’t been listening, but now he’s ripped from his thoughts and his gaze focuses on his two friends. He’d almost forgotten where he was. 

“Did you hear me?” Gilbert looks vaguely annoyed, as if he believes Francis is intentionally ignoring him. 

Antonio, bless him, chimes in, “He asked how the dare is going.” 

And Francis just smiles. 

  
“Don’t worry,” he tells them, “I’m definitely going to win.”


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WhoooaaAAAHHHH I'M SORRY. Hi, yes, hello, greetings, salutations. Uh, I'm sorry. I've been struggling with this chapter and honestly it's not much. It's pretty boring. Uh. Sorry. I just wanted to get it done, hopefully the next ones aren't as slow. I'm considering switching into third person, but ah... I don't know yet. Anyways. Enjoy (or not).

September comes and goes.

Science doesn’t typically have downtime, but when it does, no one fails to take advantage of it. There’s something tranquil about the autumn, even with the noisy background of the rest of the class. Outside, the trees are losing their leaves, and I watch as the wind swirls them away across the school’s courtyard. The sky is dark with the clouds of an oncoming storm, foreboding masses of darkness that creep slowly across the blue expanse above.

I’m not too concerned; I’ve always liked the rain. There’s something tranquil about it.

(It had rained a lot back in Japan. Nostalgia stings; a part of me misses home. I’m learning to find a new one here, but there’s always something missing.)

Regardless, the hallways to the dorms are covered, so nobody will be getting rained on without intentionally walking out into it. Honestly, I won’t put it past anyone, though - including myself. As if to punctuate my predictions, a low rumble of thunder reverberates, and I hear a few desks screech, as though their inhabitants had jumped. Short laughter and murmuring voices follow.

Movement in front of me distracts me from the scene outside. Francis sits in front of me in this class - at least for the time being, since our teacher is indecisive and moves our seats around all the time - and he’s taken to gazing out the window, as I had been moments before. Now that I look, his hair seems a bit longer than it’d been when I first met him, blond locks drifting over his shoulder and flitting across his upper back. I can just barely see his eyes, so very blue and distracted, distant.

Somehow, he’s different when he isn’t acting out in that flirtatious way of his. I briefly entertain the idea that it might be a facade, but he certainly seems to maintain the reputation, so I don’t dwell on the idea for long. Still, he looks peaceful.

Outside, the clouds break and rain plummets, thrumming against the ground outside, the roof, and the windows, leaving watery streaks down the glass.

I don’t see Francis very often without some sort of smirk, in the middle of his ostentatious attitude, but here it is and there’s _something_ about it. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but I turn to dig through my bag, fishing out my sketchbook and propping it up in my lap. It’s blocked by my torso to the people behind me and turned up so Francis can’t see if he glances up.

Some part of me is embarrassed, and I certainly don’t want to explain _why_ I’m drawing my classmate. I put pen to paper and glance up again, subtly, from beneath my eyelashes.

Though it isn’t like I haven’t noticed before, it doesn’t hurt to note that Francis _is_ admittedly handsome. I have no plans to mention as much, of course - I’m sure he’s already well aware, with that ego of his - but it’s hard to be oblivious to it.

My pencil scratches softly against the paper as I trace out the shape of Francis’ face, sharp jaw, flowing hair, soft features, distant eyes. Occasionally, I allow my gaze to flicker up so I can double-check my work; it can’t do someone like Francis justice, but he makes for a good subject, regardless. I do the detail to his hair and glance up again to finish his face, but this time, Francis is looking back at me curiously.

_Shi-_

“What are you drawing?”

“Um!” I panic and let out a nervous laugh, fingers curling over my sketchbook to clutch it tight against my chest.  “It was, uh, n-nothing? It was just, uh, the sky and stuff… You know, before the rain started.”

I feel a self-conscious blush rising up my throat. Francis seems amused and not entirely convinced, one eyebrow quirking up. The corner of his lips curl upwards and I instinctively slam my sketchbook closed and shove it untidily back into my bag. He’s gotten ahold of it once, and I can only hope he won’t again. I definitely don’t have a valid excuse as to why I was drawing him.

“You’re cute,” he says, turning fully and propping his chin on his upraised palm and his elbow on my desk.

Words fail me, for just a moment longer than I would have liked. I hide my embarrassment behind a cough, covering my lower face with one hand.

Searching for a quick distraction to change the subject, my eyes catch sight of his phone on his desk. It hasn’t locked yet, and it appears to have a paragraph of words on the screen. Clutching the edge of my desk and stretching to the side to look closer, I tilt my head, trying to make out the words. It _looks_ like it’s in English, but I can’t really make out the words from where I’m sitting. Francis just sort of tilts his head, but makes no move to lean away as I nearly invade his bubble.

“What were you reading?”

Francis blinks, but the change of subject distracts him, thankfully. He twists around and grabs his phone, turning it so I can see the screen better.

“Poetry,” he replies mildly, clearly unconcerned.

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and I catch myself thinking of the drawing again. I want to finish it, but it’s going to be harder now. I consider just finishing it from memory, but I’m already second guessing my capabilities.  

“Poetry?” I echo.

Honestly, I’m not surprised. I don’t recognize the poem he’s reading, and the name is hidden from view so I don’t ask, but Francis certainly strikes me as the poetry type. What I gather from the bit of the poem on his screen, at least, it’s saying something about rain, ironically.

“Mm,” he nods, “it’s called Rain, by Kazim Ali. Do you like poetry, Kiku?”

_The night collapses into your skin. I am the-_

“Huh?” I ask, eloquently, lifting my gaze from the words on his screen quickly.

Francis’ lips curl in amusement, and only then do his words register. Embarrassment immediately washes over me; I’d been so focused on reading what parts of the poem I could see that I’d almostly completely tuned him out. Drawing back with a sheepish little smile, I nod.

“I mean- I don’t read it too much, but generally, yes.”

“Do you write it?”

“Um, not really?”

Smooth.

“That’s too bad. I- Oh!” Francis abruptly straightens, eyebrows darting up as though recalling something. “Are you going to join the Halloween scare contest?”

I lower my eyebrows and tilt my head. It must be some sort of tradition around here, I suppose. Halloween is still a more recent thing in Japan, but I understand the gist of it here in America. Apparently, Francis senses my confusion, for he grins and dives into an explanation.

“Every year, a student volunteer committee signs up to put together the annual Halloween Bash - not by choice, I assure you; more often than not, someone eccentric signs their friends up, or people sign up to skip class. Generally, it isn’t worth it. Anyways,” he seems to realize he’s getting off subject, “said students go around the school and help out setting everything up for Halloween. Normally, there’s games and stuff, plus a Haunted House in the gym - but the scare contest is always the crown jewel.”

My interest is more or less piqued, and I tilt my head. “How does it work?”

“Well,” says Francis, “generally people break into groups - or solo, if they so prefer - and try to scare all the other teams. Everyone gets a little buzzer to press if they forfeit - _yeah_ ,” he notes the raise of my eyebrows and rolls his eyes, “it’s _that_ overkill, Americans - and basically the last team or person standing wins.”

I officially agree with him on something; _Americans._

“I usually team up with Gil and Toni - we don’t ever bother trying to win, though.”

Somehow, I doubt they don’t try. They seem like sore losers - however, Francis doesn’t strike me as a horror lover, much less his two friends, so it’s probably more of a matter of them getting out easily.

“Right,” I reply, not bothering to question it, “well, what e-”

I don’t get the chance to finish my thought. The bell rings overhead and I close my mouth, moving to gather my things. Briefly, I pause to wonder if it’s disappointment that crosses Francis’ face, but I don’t dwell on it. I doubt it’s anything like that, anyways.

“Thank you for telling me about all of that,” I tell him, pulling my bag over one shoulder.

Francis smiles that flawless smile of his. “No problem. Are you going to take part?”

“Me?” I lift my eyebrows incredulously. “No, probably not.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I-”

He’s cut off by Feliciano’s familiar, lilting voice as the brunet swings into the room, waving wildly to me. “Kiku, Kiku, come on!”

I shoot Francis an apologetic smile and move to follow after Feliciano. Ludwig is in the hall, looking about as exasperated as usual. I suppose he’s more or less accustomed to it - it’s still taking me some time. Feliciano hops ahead to catch up to Ludwig, and they both wait for me.

“What do you know about the Halloween Bash?” I ask, falling into step at Ludwig’s left.

“Ooh, is that what Francis was telling you about? The Halloween Bash is _super_ fun!” Feliciano cuts in, beaming. “There’s all sorts of cool carnival games, and- and- a costume contest, and a Haunted House - but it’s _super_ scary, so I won’t go in without Ludwig or Lovi, except Lovi gets more scared in there than I do, but- _oops!_ Don’t tell him I told you that - but anyways, I heard you talking about the scare contest and _that’s_ always terrifying because everyone goes all out and gets these really terrifying costumes - I think Alfred won last year? Did Alfred win last year, Luddy?” He doesn’t actually pause to give Ludwig the chance to reply, and Ludwig makes no effort to, no doubt aware of this. “But everyone ends up getting _lots_ of candy and stuff, so- Oops, I’m ranting again. I’m ranting, aren’t I? Sorry! I’m sure Franny already told you all of this, anyways!”

I laugh. “Thank you for that lesson, Feliciano.”

Feliciano beams, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Hehe… You’re welcome.”

Ludwig hides a little smile and carries on down the hall.


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That feel when you're trying to get back on a regular updating schedule (aka, I wrote this whole chapter last night).

The outlines of my world are a very colorless place. 

Sometimes, the colors seem dulled, gray - as if they’re fading. It’s a split second thing - blink and they vanish, and without fail, I’m always left wondering where they’ve gone. 

My footsteps are muted against the linoleum of the school floors, dulled by the steady hum of the rain against the building. It’s been raining steadily for the past few days, ever since that day in class. Any outdoor classes and clubs have been canceled or postponed, but most of the rest of the building is covered, so nobody is too concerned about getting wet. The buildings and the dorms are all connected, so nobody’s getting rained unless they want to, regardless.

I don’t put it past half the student body, including myself. 

It’s Saturday; I pass students wandering aimlessly in the hall, dressed down in their normal clothing instead of their uniforms. Half of them seem to be past the point of caring and are shuffling about in their pajamas - it’s not like any of us can go anywhere, one way or another. The school’s power has already flickered twice. It’s a miracle the administrators haven’t shoved us into our dorms yet to wait out the storm, but they’re probably just sticklers for making us stay in our classes and don’t see the point with bothering on a Saturday. 

The library door is ajar, as always, when I arrive, propped open by one of the many signs they keep. This time, it has a poster about the upcoming Halloween Bash draped haphazardly over it, as though it’d been an afterthought to the hasty person who’d put it there. 

Dismissing the sign, I duck into the library and turn my books back in at the counter, before turning to go look at more. 

“Oh,” comes a familiar voice, “Honda. How’ve you been?”

Halfway down the aisle, I turn at the sound of Arthur’s voice. I haven’t seen him around much - I rarely do outside of the library. I smile faintly. 

“Oh, hello,” I greet, “I’m doing fine. And you?”

“Good.” Arthur says, approaching to reach past and pull a book. “Are you looking for something new to read?”

I nod. “Do you have any suggestions?” 

Arthur tips his head thoughtfully. “I haven’t read it yet, but I’ve heard that the  _ Six Of Crows _ series is good. Wonder Show is a bit childish, but rather good, nonetheless. They’re by Leigh Bardugo and Hannah Barnaby, respectively. Just down at the end of this aisle, if you’re interested.”

He gestures for me to follow and leads the way to the end of the aisle, pulling two books from the shelf and offering them out to me. I take them with a quiet thanks, but my gaze is drawn somewhere past him.

“Who is that?”

Arthur follows my gaze, confused, until he spots the boy I’m looking at - someone with shaggy brown hair, who looks to have fallen asleep at one of the tables with a stack of philosophy books by him. I can’t recall having ever met him, but it’s not surprising - I’m not exactly the most social one. 

“Oh,” says Arthur, waving one hand dismissively, “that’s Heracles Karpusi. He tends to nap here a lot. Actually, I think I’ll go sit there - people don’t tend to bother me when he’s sleeping nearby. He doesn’t generally wake pleasantly if forced out of it, as far as I’ve seen. You’re welcomed to join, of course.”

Well, I conclude, I don’t actually have anything better to do. 

Arthur takes the lead again, crossing the small space to the table and quietly sitting down at the end. I take the seat across from Heracles, who doesn’t even stir when we sit. I glance at his books - they all look like they’re pretty advanced; he’s a senior, no doubt. I don’t blame him for seeming tired. 

Arthur reclines back in his seat to read and I lean forward, opting to read Wonder Show first. It’s thankfully quiet; the quiet is something I haven’t gotten so much since I got here - every day is hectic now and it’s exhausting. It’s nice to sit back and relax for once. 

Heracles Karpusi stirs about half an hour later. I notice first, the slow twitch and uncurl of his fingers from beneath his elbows. Arthur lifts his gaze second, watching from over the top of his book as Heracles half lifts his head, blinking slowly, lethargically. He looks between Arthur and I, eyebrows furrowing momentarily and lips turning down at the corners. Finally, he seems to collect his thoughts fully and focuses more on Arthur. 

“Arthur,” he greets, in a slow, sleepy voice, gaze sliding to me, “and-?”

“Kiku,” I introduce myself quickly, “Kiku Honda. Sorry, I’m Arthur’s friend. It was quiet here.”

“Oh,” says Heracles, merely blinking absently.

“In other words, and much less politely, we wanted to avoid other company,” Arthur cuts in, rather bluntly. 

“I figured,” Heracles yawns, lowering his head back into his arms. “So, Kiku. Are you new? I haven’t seen you around.”

“It’s my first year,” I tell him, glancing over at Arthur, who has pitched forward in his chair to glare down at his phone screen.

He taps aggressively at the glass and I catch myself worrying about the phone. I can only see the contact name -  _ Alfred. _ I vaguely recall Arthur mentioning the name before. Arthur lifts his gaze with a half irritated sigh. 

“Sorry to pop out so soon,” he starts, getting up and gathering his books, “but my boyfriend is  _ apparently  _ having some problems and won’t stop bothering me to help him. I’ll see you later then, yes?”

Heracles’ goodbye is half muffled by his arm and I raise one hand in farewell, watching Arthur whirl on one foot and hurry off. Now, I admit, it’s awkward. I turn my gaze to Heracles, who just blinks calmly in return. 

“Are you a junior?” He asks, moving one hand to brush his messy hair away from his face. 

“Yeah,” I nod, “and you’re a senior, I’m assuming.”

“Did the books give it away?”

“Yes,” I smile faintly, “those classes weren’t an option for juniors.”

Heracles nods, sitting up just enough to prop his elbow up on the table and rest his cheek against his palm. Half of me wonders if he just always looks this tired, or if it’s because of the fact that he’s only just woken up.

“Do you like philosophy?” He asks. “Or… Cats?”

_ Cats? _ The question is certainly out of the blue, but there’s something in the back of his eyes - oddly, almost cat-like. I tip my head. 

“Philosophy is interesting. I have a dog back home, myself, but I do like cats,” I reply, finally, nodding thoughtfully.

He seems pleased, closing his eyes. Heracles is silent for so long that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep again. I’m just about to check when his eyes flicker half open again.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, “I love cats. Philosophy is nice, too…”

I’ve come to the conclusion that Heracles is rather odd. Then again, most of the students here certainly have their quirks. I bookmark my page quietly and tuck my arms at the edge of the table, beneath my chest. 

Heracles and I end up talking for the better part of the hour, conversing about books and theories - and cats. More than once, Heracles seems to nod off, but it doesn’t take me very long to get accustomed to his sleepy personality. He’s certainly one of the calmest people I’ve met thus far. It isn’t until his head slowly slips back down into his once again folded arms and his breathing seems to ease into that of sleep that I silently slip away, opting to head back to my dorm. 

The hall is long and abandoned, quieter than I’m used to, when I walk out. The rain is still thrumming heavily outside, loud and steady. I gaze out the windows as I go, watching raindrops race each other down the glass. 

...Somehow, the colors keep getting darker. 

Had I lowered my gaze, I would have missed it. Sudden streaks of  _ color _ cross my vision and I pause, gaze fixing on a point out the window. I spot the familiar blond hair first, and then Francis’ grin. He seems to be laughing, one hand braced against his hip and the other draped by his side. He’s soaked from the rain, hair clinging to his face and button-down weighed down with water.

He’s with Gilbert and Antonio, who are brawling in the mud, dirt streaked faces bright with laughter and hair soaked a different shade with water. They’re struggling to get a grip on each other, visibly laughing as they slip, slide, and tumble over each other.

Francis is just dancing around the two, clearly avoiding the mud himself, and just rolling his eyes and shaking his head - his smile gives him away. My shoulders lower as I relax, watching the three. They seem close - it makes me wonder how long they’ve been friends. 

I watch as Gilbert and Antonio exchange a mischievous glance, and Francis’ expression turns from amused to horrified in the split second it takes for him to realize that they’ve already grabbed his arms and yanked him into the mud. Francis shoots back up, thrashing and lobbing handfuls of dirt at both of his friends. Briefly, he looks irritated, but then Gilbert and Antonio start laughing at his state - hair caked with mud, clothing disheveled and skin speckled with dirt, running brown because of the rain. His irritated mask cracks and he smiles, and then laughs.

I’m almost jealous. He looks so free, soaked hair plastered to his face and his clothing bedraggled and splotched with mud. He looks  _ radiant _ , even as he shoves Gilbert back into the mud puddle and doubles over with laughter as Antonio loses his footing, only for his expression to change to panic as he wipes out himself.

I can’t help but laugh and duck my head, carrying on down the hall.

But, for a fleeting moment, the colors almost seem to grow brighter again.


	15. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, so sorry for the late update. Motivation has not been doing the thing for me lately. This is a really short and terrible chapter and doesn’t really make up for anything. So sorry. Second thing, this might go on hiatus for a little while. I have a bunch of writing weeks coming up on tumblr (until September 23rd at the latest, thus far), so I probably won’t be able to keep up with all of those AND this. I’m going to try to get an update in somewhere, but I can’t promise anything. Third - the outfits that Feliciano, Ludwig, and Kiku wear at the beginning of this chapter can be viewed on my tumblr, @asylumsession! Thanks for your patience, guys, and stick around! I’ll more than likely post everything I write for these writing weeks in my oneshots!

**** The rain stops on Sunday. It’s a gradual process, at the early hours when few people are awake. I rise with the sun, just early enough to see it slow to a drizzle and soon, stop entirely. 

Feliciano shows up at my dorm shortly after ten. He’s dressed down in a pink crop top with white jeans and high tops - it’s such a bright outfit that I have to focus on his face, instead. Ludwig is behind him in a blue striped shirt and a white unbuttoned button down, looking exhausted. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Hey, Kiku! Luddy and I are going into town - do you wanna come?” 

“Uh,” I look between the two, and then slowly nod, “I suppose. Give me a moment to get dressed.”

\--

After I throw on a shirt and some jeans - and a hoodie, as an afterthought - I yank a red beanie on and exit my dorm to join Feliciano and Ludwig. Feliciano’s bangles jingle loudly when he whirls, grinning and towing Ludwig and I down the hall. The air is cool from the rain and the ground is still dotted with puddles. They’re easy enough to avoid, lucky.

“How are we getting there?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Ludwig’s car!” Feliciano chimed, beaming. 

If I’m being honest, I wasn’t at all aware of the existence of Ludwig’s car. Somehow, I’m unsurprised by the fact that it turns out to be a sports car; I only vaguely recognize that it’s a Mustang, but I’m certainly no car expert. Feliciano puts the passenger seat forward so I can get in the back and once we’re all settled, we head into town. 

I don’t know what their plans are, but I suppose it’s better than sitting around in my dorm all day - again. 

The town isn’t too far from school; as far as I know, students come here all the time. Ludwig parks in the mall parking lot; everything is within walking distance from here. Apparently, the building itself is our destination - Feliciano bounds ahead to the doors and Ludwig and I follow at a slower pace. 

Inside, we take our time going from store to store. Feliciano darts constantly from store to store, and Ludwig typically stops to peer at whatever they’re showing on the televisions. I’m mostly excited to find that one of the places sells pocky and hello panda - I wind up buying a couple of packets. 

Feliciano does the most shopping by far, passing off multiple bags to Ludwig as we go along. We spend hours inside, getting ice cream - that Feliciano gets on his nose, much to Ludwig and I’s amusement - and eating in the food court before returning to more stores. 

It isn’t until Feliciano very nearly gets us kicked out of a Game Stop that we decide it’s probably about time to leave. It’s already evening by the time we pile back into the car. 

It’s a good day.

\--

By Wednesday, my snacks are nearly gone. I’m on my last box of pocky and spending my lunch break studying again. Heracles is sitting across from me, head in his arms. He’s fast asleep, no doubt. My focus is finally interrupted by the insistent buzzing of my phone. I sigh and check it - Feliciano again, asking if I’m going to join them in the cafeteria. 

I finally relent, sending back a quick affirmative and packing my things.  

On the way out, I throw the pocky box out - the last one is in my mouth, anyways - and sling my bag over my shoulder, exiting the library. I turn my attention to my phone as I head down the hall and mostly forget about the stick of pocky in my mouth.

It’s my first mistake.

Halfway to the cafeteria, I round the corner and run right into someone’s back. Narrowly avoiding dropping my pocky, I yelp and stumble back, only registering a surprised grunt and stagger from the other person, before I instinctively bow.

“Ah! I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”

“Nice to know that you’re used to getting low,” says an all too familiar voice. 

Somehow, I’m not surprised.

I promptly straighten back up, feeling heat rush to my face. Francis just looks amused, one hand on his hip and the other loose by his side, phone in hand. He’d been on his phone as well, no doubt. It takes me a moment to fully register the words, but I know Francis sees it when I do, for he breaks into a grin the same moment I feel my face grow hotter. 

“Uh huh,” I reply, dubiously, moving to walk past him. “Sorry again, Francis-san.”

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem as though he’s done with me. Francis moves swiftly, twisting around to slide into my path again. I halt, gaze darting up to his again. 

“...Was there something else?” I ask, tentatively.

Almost immediately, I regret that decision. 

Francis grins wickedly, gesturing at the nearly forgotten stick of pocky dangling between my lips - it’s a miracle it hasn’t broken. “I want a piece,” he drawls, “as your apology for running into me.”

It strikes me that Francis  _ must _ be aware that I’m out - I don’t have the box and there’s something lurking behind that smile of his. Despite this, I have nowhere else to go but forward, so I’m forced to go along with it, glancing down awkwardly. 

“Um,” I mumble, “I just ran out, sorry. This is my last piece.”

“Ah,” says Francis, tipping his head nonchalantly, faking surprise none too convincingly.

I  _ knew _ he was aware. Too late, now. Francis slides forward, leans down, and meets my eyes. 

“That’s too bad,” he continues in a lilting voice, raising one eyebrow, “I suppose I’ll just have to take this one then,  _ oui _ ?”

His response doesn’t immediately click, and Francis is quick. He closes the gap, lips sealing around the other end of the pocky stick and biting off startlingly close to my lips. Only then does my mind click and kick into overdrive. My heart  _ lurches. _ I feel my face burn and my jaw clamp, teeth cutting through the end of the pocky in my mouth. 

Staggering back, I slap one hand over my mouth, gaze darting up to the very satisfied expression Francis adorns. The last little bit of the pocky is still poking out from between his lips and I drop my gaze immediately, half pushing past him in my haste to get away. 

I don’t trust my voice to say anything, so I bite my lip and half jog down the hall. Francis, thankfully, makes no effort to come after me. 

I make a note to  _ never _ go near Francis with pocky again, or at least not without some extra. 

Turning into the hall near the cafeteria, I falter. My heart is still thrumming rapidly in my ears and the room feels hot, but I’m too aware that it’s just my face. I’m still too flustered after that to face them - it’s not something I want to raise questions about and have to explain.

As an afterthought, I text them a vague excuse about going to the art room and whirl around, pulling my hoodie over my head. 

What a day.


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, so I disappeared for a while. Apologies for that. It’s about to happen again (NaNoWriMo this month), but I wanted to get this updated as soon as possible. I haven’t had any motivation to write it lately, but I’m not going to give up on it - I have it all outlined, so I’ll see it to the end. In any case, sorry for the long wait! I’ll try to update during NaNo (no promises, although I’m debating writing this alongside my novel) and definitely pick back up afterwards because I’m really trying to crack down on my writing. I have to get my outlines to a point where I like this for this particular story, though. Anyways, enjoy!

A sort of excitement, a buzzing, giddy feeling that hops from someone’s skin to your own whether you know it or not, laces through the school as Halloween nears. 

Most of the students here have been in America long enough to pick up the Halloween excitement - I hear discussions of parties and costumes and pranks everywhere I go. From what I’ve overheard, it’s apparently one of the best events of the year. Feliciano, especially, seems pleased that this will be my first time experiencing it.

I’m curious, of course, but not curious enough to want to deal with all the social interaction. More than likely, I’ll end up shutting myself up in my room and playing video games. Parties are fun, sometimes, but they’re ridiculously energy sapping. 

During fourth period, study hall is as loud as ever. Having forgotten my earbuds in my dorm, I’m subject to the noise today. My book is set out in front of me, opened to the page I’d last been on, but none of the words are really processing, so I’ve given up on actually trying to read right now. Luckily, it seems as though everyone is too occupied with each other to bother with me.

I suppose it was only wishful thinking that it would last the whole period.

Sure enough, part way through class, Francis wanders towards me, with Gilbert and Antonio in tow. I see them coming out of the corner of my eye and immediately hope to any god that’s ever existed that they  _ aren’t _ coming to me, lowering my head further into my book. 

(Spoiler alert; it doesn’t work.)

Francis half leans, half drapes himself over the back of the seat, back curled over the plastic and braced against my upper back. I stiffen instinctively at the unexpected touch and lower my head a fraction further, lifting my book to half hide my face. 

My  _ traitorous _ thoughts immediately jump to what I’ve dubbed  _ the pocky incident. _

Once again, just as I thought my constant, internal shrieking couldn’t get worse, Francis Bonnefoy blows in and proves me wrong.

I glance at the three from my peripherals as Gilbert drops down into the desk next to me and Antonio straddles the chair in front of me, draping himself over the back and letting his arms dangle. They’ve effectively cornered me - the window is to my other side. 

I can’t see Francis from where I’m sitting, but somehow I  _ know _ he’s smirking. I can feel his gaze burning into me.

“Long time, no talk,” Gilbert snickers, grinning that wicked grin of his.

_ That was intentional _ , I think, but merely force a smile. “I suppose it has.”

“ _ Kiku _ ,” Francis whines, drawing my attention, “are you going to the Halloween event?”

Well, that was asked sooner than I anticipated. 

I shrug as best I can in my current position. “Probably not,” I confess, softly, bracing myself for the undoubtedly negative response, “at least, I wasn’t planning to. Parties aren’t really my thing… I was going to just stay in my room and play games or something.”

Francis gasps, jerking straight up like he’d been slapped. He whirls around with a sharp and vaguely inconvenienced noise, flinging his arms haphazardly over my shoulders and dropping his chin onto my right one. 

_ Roses _ , the thought comes, unbidden, before I can bury it.  _ He always smells like roses. _

My shoulders go rigid under his touch, thought racing a mile a minute. It occurs to me that Francis is protesting - his voice sounds wavering and high, and even without looking at him, I know he’s pouting by the expression on Antonio’s face.

“Aw,  _ come on _ , Kiku! It’ll be your first experience with the annual Halloween celebration! Trust me,” Francis resumes, either unaware of my discomfort or ignoring it, “I wasn’t into Halloween either, but these Americans  _ really _ know how to make things exciting!”

“Can’t avoid popping your Halloween cherry forever,” Gilbert adds, and Antonio just nods sagely, as if his friend hadn’t just said the most  _ embarrassing _ thing. 

“Francis-san,” I interrupt, before he can go on, “would you mind, ah…  _ detaching _ yourself?”

Francis pauses, just for a moment, and then his weight leaves and I turn my head to see him standing up straight, hands up in the air by his head in a conceding motion. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Francis beams, “I forgot how you were about touching. I just get excited. In any case, I mean it; you should at least consider coming. I’ll definitely find a way to make you, hm?”

His smile gives way to a wicked smirk and I practically feel the blood drain from my face, just as the bell rings overhead. Francis moves away in the same fluid motion as Gilbert and Antonio lifting from their seats. Gilbert goes, catapulting himself over a desk, and Antonio follows, laughing as he nearly trips over a chair. Francis walks backwards to follow, blowing me a kiss on the way out and disappearing through the door.

Frankly, I’m rather terrified.

\--

Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m surprised anymore. 

Ludwig stares at Feliciano’s beaming expression incredulously, before he sighs, slapping his hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face, undoubtedly exhausted. Feliciano looks ridiculously pleased with himself, probably quite oblivious to Ludwig and I’s reluctance and near displeasure over the situation.

Basically, Feliciano has signed himself, Ludwig, and I up for the committee to help set up the Halloween event. 

As I’ve come to find out, Ludwig doesn’t plan to take part either, but apparently, there’s no backing out once you’re signed up, so we’re stuck. Ludwig just gives the most long suffering sigh I’ve ever heard - Feliciano’s smile brightens, as though taking it as acceptance.

Which, really, it probably is.

The committee meets in the auditorium. I don’t recognize all of the people there, but there are a few that stand out - Heracles, looking none too pleased to be here, Francis, tormenting Arthur with Antonio and Gilbert while another, taller blond with glasses stands by, laughing. Elizabeta is nearby, watching with a quirked eyebrow. Ivan is there as well, hovering near two girls - one with a bob cut and an excited expression and one with long, blond hair, who looks rather irritated at both the short haired girl and the Korean hovering next to her. I make a point to avoid that entire group. 

There’s only one tired looking teacher, and he taps the microphone a few times in an attempt to get everyone’s attention. It doesn’t actually work until he holds it near the speaker - the feedback shuts everyone up immediately. The teacher clears his throat. 

“Hello, everyone,” he drones, as though this is a perfectly common procedure, “thank you all for signing up - or being signed up - for the Halloween committee. As usual, we’re decorating the whole school, dorms included. No, this doesn’t mean the boys can go to the girls’ dorms and vice versa. The haunted house will be in the big gymnasium and there are others to help build in there for those of you who want to help. Decorations are in the boxes out in the hall, blah, blah, blah,” he sighs, “just don’t do anything stupid.”

The man puts the microphone down, but even his bitterness isn’t enough to suppress the palpable excitement vibrating through the room. Perfectly used to this, everyone else immediately files towards the door. 

In the halls, people are separating and sorting through the boxes, chattering excitedly or arguing for a select few. Feliciano bounds straight towards the nearest one and flings it open - it’s filled with banners and advertisement posters for everything from the haunted house, to the scare contest, to the outside events. 

“We’ll probably have to split up,” Ludwig says, eyeing the contents of the box. 

“I wanna do posters!” Feliciano chimed, brightening. “We could hang them up  _ everywhere! _ On the lockers, by the entrances, exits, staircases, the dorms - or at least the boys’ dorm because we’re not allowed in the girls’, but I guess we can always ask Lizzy to do it for us! - and I can ask all of the teacher if we can hang it up in their rooms! Of course, if they say no, that could be a problem… We wouldn’t be able to hang up posters  _ everywhere _ people would see them, and we might not even get to hang all of the posters up, which is disappointing and makes the whole thing kinda pointless, don’t you think? I mean-”

I clear my throat. “I can handle the banners if you two want to do the posters. There’s a lot more of them, in any case…”

Ludwig shoots me a grateful look. “Are you sure, though? Banners might be hard for one person.”

I shrug dismissively. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can get someone to help me if I need it.”

_ That’s probably a lie _ , I think, but opt not to say that aloud.

“Alright,” Ludwig nods and gathers up the stacks of posters, handing half to Feliciano while I just pick up the box once they’ve gotten their posters out.

There are tables set up closer to the doors of the auditorium, where several rolls of tape and a box of scissors have been placed. Ludwig and Feliciano both grab a small scotch tape dispenser and I grab one of the few larger ones, deciding they would work best for the banners, along with hooks for the ones that wouldn’t be hanging over the banisters. We split ways, and I make my way up to the second floor of the school to hang the banners over the walkway balconies. 

There are a few students wandering, but since it’s a Friday after classes, the majority of the student body is either in town or in their dorms. I see the occasional group go by, laden down by Halloween decorations. The banners are easy enough to hang up over the balcony, so of course the trouble comes when I get to the ones that are intended to be hung up on the ceiling.

It’s then, of course, I come to the very abrupt and rather bothersome realization that I am, for one, short - and I have no ladder. So thus, my problem begins.

I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so I don’t know where to find a custodian closet. The custodians themselves are practically cryptids, seeming to only pop in and out of existence when they’re needed, save for my current dilemma. Ultimately, I’m left standing below my chosen place to hang the banner - the front entrance to the academy - glaring up at the ceiling like it personally offended me. 

“Hey, dude! Having problems?” A loud voice cuts straight through my thoughts, and I cringe.

I turn just in time to see the blond from earlier leaping to hang a bat decoration up above the entrance to the front office. He beams a dazzling smile, jogging the rest of the distance towards me. I stand still, fidgeting. 

“You look like you could use some help,” he states, despite it being the most obvious thing ever.

I raise an eyebrow at him, confused at his rather overbearing personality. “I… Yes?”

“Okay, so here’s what we’ll do! You get on my shoulders and-”

“ _ Um,” _ I cough into my hand, “actually, I was rather hoping you could just… help me find a custodian? Or a ladder?”

“Oh!” He straightens. “Well, why didn’t you say so? There’s a closet right over here-”

He gestures and bounds off, leaving me to sigh and set my banner and tape off to the side and follow at a steady, but quick pace to keep up. I don’t know who this guy is, but he seemed to know Arthur - which is surprising - and Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio - which is considerably  _ less _ surprising. The blond leads me straight to a custodian's closet, but the door appears to be locked. He puts his hands on his hips, frowns, and taps his foot a couple of times, looking around.

Sure enough, a custodian chooses that moment to round the corner. 

(At this point, I’ve just given up trying to fully understand this place.)

He beams and bounds over to the woman, explaining the situation in a rapid, loud voice. She seems rather accustomed to him, somehow, and merely retrieves the ladder for us.

“So,” says the boy, when we’re on our way back to the front, “you’re Kiku, aren’t ‘cha? Artie’s mentioned you. Francis has, too. My name is Alfred! Alfred F. Jones!”

Now that I thought about it, Arthur  _ had _ offhandedly mentioned him, regardless of whether it was directed at me or not. He’d been texting, hadn’t he? Alfred adjusts the ladder where he carries it effortlessly over his shoulder, maneuvering it easily through the halls. 

“Oh,” I reply, “you’re Arthur-san’s friend?”

“Boyfriend, yeah!” He beams. “Nice to meet’cha!”

Alfred seems nice enough, if not a bit overbearing. He helps me with the last few banners and then races off again with a quick goodbye - and the ladder. I’m just relieved I’m done with that particular job. I suppose I should head back to the auditorium, but instead I set about in search of Ludwig and Feliciano. I could make it easy for myself and just text them, but I discard the idea.

They’re as hard to find as anticipated; I find Heracles first.

Initially, I don’t see the brunet until I’ve nearly tripped over him. He’s tucked up just around the corner of a hall, head lolling back against the lockers with a box of inflatable decorations, an air pump, and what looks to be Halloween themed cups, plates, and cutlery beside him. He hardly budges, despite me nearly stepping on him. I hesitate, and then crouch down, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“Heracles-kun?”

He wakes slowly, eyes flickering, and then practically forcing themselves open. Heracles’ lethargic gaze slowly drifts to me and he tips his head. 

“Oh… It’s just you, Kiku,” he murmurs, yawning widely, “are you on this committee, too…?”

“Feliciano signed me up,” I admit, with a shake of my head. “Why are you sleeping here?”

“Sadik signed Gupta and I up,” he replies, “but I just wanted to sleep.”

“I-”

“Ohoho, hiding?” A familiar, lilting voice drifts from the hall. 

Heracles and I turn to look, and sure enough, Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio are standing there. Antonio is in the middle of tearing apart the box they’d been carrying, and Gilbert is slipping a pumpkin shaped paper into the locker on the end of the hall, but Francis is looking straight at us, grinning wickedly. 

“No,” I automatically reply, “he was sleeping, so I woke him up.”

“Well, then,” Francis drawls, “I don’t suppose you would mind coming to help us? We can even assist poor Heracles and do the rest of those decorations for him.”

Heracles blinks slowly at the blond. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs, and closes his eyes again. 

With no way out, I resign myself, reluctantly, to the mercy of the three of them. Francis sidles up and moves to slide his arm through mine, but stops at the last second and seems to settle for simply helping to gather up Heracles’ box. Gilbert and Antonio have gone on, slipping the little Halloween shaped papers into each locker. 

“They’re information notes,” Francis informs me, “and we had to put them in every locker here, not to mention slide them under the doors in the dorms, too.”

Distantly, I hear Alfred’s voice. 

“Oh,” I glance back at Heracles, who seems to have gone back to sleep, “that seems like an awful lot of work.”

“You know,” says Francis, gesturing for me to follow and continuing on, “you didn’t strike me as the type to participate in this kind of thing. After all, you said you weren’t planning to participate in the event itself. What changed?”

“Feliciano,” I repeat, “signed me up without me knowing.”

Francis outright laughs, shifting to brace the box against his hip. “That certainly  _ sounds _ like Feliciano,” he says, lips curling in amusement at my evident misery, “but in any case, it’s not such a terrible thing, hm? I do feel bad for the students setting up the haunted house, though…”

Francis, I suppose, isn’t so bad.

\--

I end up spending a good portion of time with the three troublemakers, smiling faintly as they joke around and laugh freely. It seems nice to be without a care like that. Eventually, we run into Feliciano and Ludwig and I go off with them to help with the last few posters, as well as some door decorations. 

As the evening draws near, everyone on the committee flocks towards the student lounge, where  _ The Nightmare Before Christmas _ is set up to kick off a movie marathon. I settle into one of the recliners, feet tucked up, and watch as everyone settles around me - on the couches, beanbags, and on the floor with pillows and blankets. 

(Halfway through the night, Francis smiles as he passes me a fuzzy throw blanket; I only realize that I’m cold once I’m wrapping it over my shoulders, watching Francis curl under another blanket with Gilbert and Antonio. 

It smells like roses.)


	17. 17

The day following the set up for the Halloween Fest, Francis Bonnefoy races down the hall behind Gilbert and Antonio. They’ve both always been faster than him, so he’s stuck a pace behind. In hindsight, he supposes it’s for the best - his mind is somewhere else entirely. 

Namely on a certain Kiku Honda. 

He isn’t oblivious, as much as he may seem, to any of his feelings. He just has yet to identify them, is all. He knows they’re  _ there _ , he just isn’t sure what  _ they _ are - and he isn’t sure he wants to find out. 

Gilbert and Antonio skid to an abrupt stop. The moment Antonio makes a sound of displeasure, Francis knows  _ exactly _ who stands around the corner. 

“Arthur,” the brunet says, confirming Francis’ suspicions.

“Looks like he’s going somewhere,” Gilbert says, tilting his head. “We should mess with him.”

For once in his life, Francis doesn’t really want to. Nonetheless, he puts on a wicked grin and shoves between his friends, taking the lead as they prowl towards the unsuspecting blond. 

“What’s  _ this? _ ” Gilbert drawls, snatching a book clean out of Arthur’s hands as he strides by the shorter junior. 

“Where are  _ you _ going?” Antonio snickers, slipping up behind and pinching Arthur’s side. 

Arthur hisses and shoves at the Spaniard. Francis just circles, watching as Arthur stops entirely, glare hopping from Antonio, to Francis, to Gilbert. The three merely circle him like dogs, snapping in and out when presented the chance until Arthur looks more visibly annoyed than usual. 

“Would you all  _ kindly _ sod off?” He snarls, making an attempt to snatch his book back from Gilbert, who holds it out of his reach until Arthur kicks him in the shin.

Gilbert almost immediately lets the book go and drops down to rub his leg, grumbling. Arthur glowers as the book drops right into his hands - where Antonio seizes the chance to snatch it, sliding his arms up between Arthur’s from behind and tugging the book right out. 

“Crooked Kingdom?” Antonio reads out loud, holding Arthur away comically by the forehead as he reads the cover. “Sounds boring. What’s it for, anyways?”

Arthur nearly bites Antonio, but the brunet withdraws his hand just in time, leaving the blond to snatch the book back  _ again _ and clutch it to his chest. 

“If you  _ must _ know,” he starts, clearing his throat and straightening out his disheveled clothing, “I’m bringing it to Kiku. It’s the sequel to a book I recommended to him a while back.” 

_ Kiku. _ There it is again; the mention of his name, the sight of him, the thought of him - Francis can practically feel his heart  _ stutter. _ He falters, just a moment too long, jealousy tugging at him. How close were Arthur and Kiku? They’re both his friends - more or less, anyway - but he can’t help the soft whisper of envy that tells him  _ they’re probably better friends with each other _ ,  _ Kiku probably likes Arthur better than he likes you. _

Arthur watches him through narrowed,  _ knowing _ green eyes. 

Francis fakes a yawn and sighs dramatically. “You’re right, Antonio,” he groans, “that  _ does _ sound boring. But did you really expect anything better from Arthur, of all people?” 

Antonio laughs, holding out a hand to pull Gilbert back to his feet. “That’s fair.”

“We could find better entertainment,” Gilbert agrees, voice still pained. 

Francis praises whatever god may exist that his friends had unintentionally gone with what he wanted. He snickers and heads past Arthur - Gilbert, apparently not over the kick, shoots a rubber band and hits Arthur in the back of the head, forcing all three to break into a run. Antonio flies ahead, the fastest of the three, with Gilbert in close pursuit and Francis a step behind. 

Only once they’re sure they’ve lost the blond do they slow, laughing breathlessly. 

“That was  _ so _ unnecessary, Gilbert,” Antonio laughs.

“He’ll kill you one of these days,” Francis adds.

“Or curse you!” Antonio snorts. 

“Sue me,” Gilbert replies, shrugging. 

“He might,” Francis intones, shaking his head. 

Gilbert looks rather unconvinced, but then he thinks about it and grimaces. “Guess I’ll fake my death,” he replies, “but until then, I’ll be bothering Elizabeta. Text me if you need me.”

Francis and Antonio watch him slink off, one hand raised in a wave and the other shoved in his pocket. Francis rolls his eyes at the albino - the title usually goes to Francis himself, but Gilbert certainly gives him a run for the  _ most dramatic _ . He turns back to Antonio, but the Spaniard’s eyes are elsewhere, watching a familiar curl bobbing on its owner’s way down the stairs. 

“ _ Lovi! _ ” Antonio cooes, and Francis watching Lovino half  _ fling _ himself down the stairs to get away.

Antonio races after him without the slightest pause, running on a second burst of energy, taking the stairs two at a time and shortly vanishing. Francis sighs, straightens his clothes out, and pulls his hair back into a ponytail.

“And then there was one,” he mutters, heading back to his dorm. 

He pushes into the room and flicks the light on, shutting and locking the door behind him and collapsing on the bed with a heavy sigh. Left alone to his thoughts, his mind drifts back to the earlier subject. He hates this entire situation - and he  _ knows _ it’s his own fault. He’s the one who got himself into this mess to begin with.  _ Oh, sure, Francis, _ he thinks, bitterly,  _ just take a challenge to kiss the new kid. What a great idea. _

In hindsight, the idea had been  _ awful. _

Lately, he reacts strongly at the mention of Kiku, gets jealous easier, and he doesn’t even want to get  _ started _ on the stunts his heart has taken to. At this point, he’s convinced it’s going to just  _ explode _ one of these days. 

“That’s how I’m going to die,” he tells the air, “Kiku Honda is going to  _ laugh _ or something, and my heart is literally going to  _ explode. _ ”

Even with all the people he’s dated - and facing it, yeah, it’s a  _ lot _ of people - he’s never,  _ ever _ , reacted so strongly around them. In his defense, he’s never met someone quite like Kiku - quiet and subtle, unreadable but always paying attention, and with a laugh that,  _ god, _ haunts Francis’ dreams. 

Francis shifts to roll over and lay on his back, legs hanging off the bed from the knees down. Overhead, stick on stars stare back at him, taunting him over his dilemma. Francis admits, he’s annoyed. He keeps seeing Kiku in  _ everything _ , keeps doing things he wouldn’t normally do, noticing things he wouldn’t normally notice - he only hopes  _ Kiku _ hasn’t noticed. 

If there is anything he hopes Kiku is oblivious to, this is it. 

Francis takes a moment to consider solutions to this entire problem. He could withdraw from the dare, but after all the talking up he’s done, his pride won’t allow him. He could claim to have kissed Kiku, but he has a distinctive feeling that Gilbert and Antonio would probably ask Kiku himself before they even  _ considered _ believing Francis. A light bulb turns on in his head, abruptly.

“That’s it,” Francis says to himself, sitting up and dropping his fist into his open palm, “I just need to get laid.”

And then he really  _ thinks _ about it again and sighs, laying back again.  _ Nope. _

This entire situation reminds Francis just how  _ exhausting _ some emotions were. He opts to find some way to distract himself for the time being. 

\--

Evening passes, and then night falls. 

Francis still doesn’t exactly get Kiku off of his mind. He finally gives up and crawls into bed, hoping that he can escape in the sanctuary of his dreams. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, so sleep sounds like a gift right about now.

He’s grateful that he drifts off so quickly.

Francis Bonnefoy is much less grateful when he wakes up, hours later, in the god-forsaken hours of the morning, with one  _ intense _ thought on his mind.

_ I am head over heels for Kiku Honda. _


	18. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Halloween chapter on Christmas Eve? In MY fanfic? It's more likely than you think.

“No,” Ludwig says, before Feliciano can even finish his sentence.

It’s evident what he wants, though. Ludwig and I had been studying in the library when Feliciano bounded up, immediately starting into a tirade about the Halloween Fest and then had started in about how he wanted all three of them to get costumes and celebrate. Ludwig cuts him off around that point and the Italian immediately mopes, half draping himself over the blond’s shoulders and looking at me imploringly.

“Maybe,” I mumble, but I definitely mean  _ no. _

I’ve already planned to stay in and play games or read the book Arthur brought to me. Feliciano, apparently understanding that I do, in fact, mean to say  _ no _ , immediately looks like a kicked puppy. I sigh, resigning myself to my oncoming fate as he practically lays over our textbooks, targeting Ludwig first. He and I both know it’s only a matter of time until Ludwig gives in - he always does, when Feliciano is involved. 

“Luddy,  _ please, _ ” Feliciano whines, tugging at Ludwig’s jacket sleeve, “I  _ really _ wanna celebrate with you and Kiku. We’re almost  _ seniors _ , and then we’ll graduate and  _ never _ get to do this again-”

“ _ Fine, _ ” Ludwig groans, giving in easier than anticipated.

He shoots me an apologetic glance as Feliciano, slowly and knowingly, turns his smiling expression on me. Backed into an inevitable decision, I just sigh, drop my shoulders, and mutter a reluctant agreement. 

Feliciano seems far too pleased for someone who acts as innocently as he does.

\--

“So,” Feliciano starts, twisting in his place in Ludwig’s passenger seat to look between Kiku in the back and Ludwig in the driver seat, “do you guys know what you want to be? I know  _ exactly _ what I wanna be but if you guys don’t have ideas, I can totally help you- ooh, I know exactly what Luddy can be and, uh, I’d say a ninja for Kiku but that seems kind of cliche doesn’t it? Especially since Japan is like, everyone’s default thought when they hear the word  _ ninja _ so scratch ninjas… Maybe a warlock? No, Al told me Artie was gonna be a warlock. Maybe a-”

“ _ Feliciano _ ,” Ludwig cut in, “please sit properly in your seat.”

“Oops,” Feliciano giggles, turning to sit forward again, “sorry, Ludwig.”

“If you’re so curious, Feliciano,” I start, looking up from my phone, “I’m going to make my own costume. I do already have an idea.”

Feliciano immediately twists back, making Ludwig sigh. “Ooh, I forgot you could make things! I might need help making some parts of mine, so could you help?” 

“Sure,” I reply, not sure how much I want to know what he intends to be. 

“You can pick something for me, Feliciano,” Ludwig tells him, and then, clearly thinking better of the words, “but I have to approve it.” 

Feliciano beams. “I know  _ exactly _ what I want to pick, in that case.”

Ludwig looks unnerved for just a second, but then we’re pulling into the store lot and Ludwig parks. Feliciano hops out and slides his seat forward so I can get out. We head inside and go towards the costume section - or Ludwig and I do. Feliciano leans over to tell Ludwig what he’d decided, and then bounds off into the clothing section instead. 

“A police officer,” Ludwig grumbles, “he wants me to be a police officer.”

“Apologies,” I murmur, shaking my head and following him to the costumes to look for bits for my own. 

I text Feliciano a quick list of clothing items to grab for me if he has the chance. If I’d had my cosplays with me, this would have been much easier. Ludwig and I spend the better part of the trip searching for a police costume - he finally settles on one and picks it up, just in time for Feliciano to join us. He passes the clothing and hat I needed to me and then vanishes into the next aisle, waving for us to go on. 

_ Now _ I’m scared to find out what he plans to dress up as. 

Nonetheless, Ludwig and I go on to pay, heading back to the car. Feliciano joins us later, knocking on the trunk in order to get Ludwig to open it. He’s carrying a couple of bags, but I can’t tell what’s in them. Ludwig pops the trunk and Feliciano deposits his bags, before clambering into the passenger seat with a grin.

“Alright, let’s go!”

We end up stopping for food first, but when we finally return to the school, Feliciano picks up his bags and follows me up to my dorm, saying his goodbyes with Ludwig, who walks with us up until we reach his room. Feliciano and I carry on to mine, where he drops his bag upon entering.

“Hiding things is  _ hard _ ,” Feliciano immediately complains.

“Why are you trying to hide your costume?” I ask.

“Because I don’t want Ludwig to know until it’s too late,” he laughs, with a mischievous smile. 

I raise an eyebrow and dare to ask, “Feliciano, what are you going to be? What did I agree to help you with?”

Feliciano beams. “An angel.”

Well, it didn’t sound awful, at least. I knew better (and I would find out later, that I was most certainly wrong), but I decided to push the subject aside for now. I empty my bags on my bed and he empties one of his on the nearby floor. 

“Okay, so first, I need to fix these,” he mutters, picking up the wings. 

“Are you gluing or sewing?”

Feliciano and I set to work on our costume. We have a couple of days, so I’m not too rushed, but Feliciano keeps distracting me with stories and jokes. It’s good that we still have time, because by the time night comes, we barely have anything done. 

The next few days go much the same, until we’re scrambling the last day to get everything done. 

\--

I’ll admit, before this I have never considered celebrating Halloween. Even as a child, I never celebrated much, especially since it’s just recently catching on back home in Japan. Everything is new to me, and it’s almost  _ exciting. _

The night of the Halloween Fest swings around and Feliciano meets Ludwig and I there. Ludwig is dressed in the police costume we got for him, complete with handcuffs and a fake gun. I keep adjusting the steampunk costume I wound up going with, fixing the hat and the vest. 

I immediately understand why Feliciano didn’t want Ludwig to see the costume until now. He’s clad in a  _ short _ pair of white shorts, a white crop top with bell sleeves, completed with white, knee high boots, the angel wings, and the halo. Beside me, Ludwig  _ gapes _ at the brunet, going red up to his ears. 

“ _ Feliciano _ ,” he hisses, ducking his head and approaching quickly, “what are you  _ wearing? _ ”

“An angel costume!” Feliciano smiles innocently, but I see the mischief lurking at the edges of it now. 

“Did you know he was going to wear this?” Ludwig asks me.

“Not the clothing part,” I confess, “but I suppose it’s too late now.”

Ears still red, Ludwig looks between us, huffs, and resigns himself to this. 

“I’m  _ super _ excited you guys decided to come with me!” Feliciano giggles, taking both of our arms in an iron grip. “There’s all  _ sorts  _ of cool things set up! There’s the mini carnival outside, the games, all the teachers have candy - I wanna go get  _ lots _ of candy later, but before they run out! Oh, man, what if they ran out before we got there? Or only had  _ bad _ candy left? That’s even worse ‘cause then you  _ gotta  _ take it but then it just sits there  _ taunting _ you because you know you’re never going to eat it and you’ll have to throw it away and  _ waste _ it or give it away and then  _ they _ know you took the pity candy- Anyways, there’s also the haunted house and scare contest later but, uh, I  _ really _ don’t wanna participate in either of those so we can just steer clear-”

“Oh, no,” Ludwig’s blue eyes narrow and fix on Feliciano, “don’t think I’m letting you out  _ that _ easily.”

Feliciano pales. 

“You can go on ahead,” I laugh, “I’m going to look around.”

“ _ Kiku, no _ ,” Feliciano whines, as Ludwig nods to me and drags him away. 

I almost feel bad, but not enough to stop Ludwig from taking Feliciano straight in the direction of the gym - and the haunted house. I wander deeper into the decorated halls and crowds of people. They have refreshments and concessions set up here and there for those who are either too lazy to get snacks from their dorms or don’t have any. Students in costumes walk through the halls or lean against the walls, talking or trying to scare their friends. It’s rather amusing, actually. 

Of course, that’s the moment I quite literally run into Alfred. Despite the mask, I’m positive it’s Alfred - his unmistakable voice follows. 

“Whoa, dude! Are you- Oh, hey, Kiku!” 

Alfred, somehow unsurprisingly, is dressed as Captain America. Behind him, an almost identical looking boy hovers over his shoulder, looking as though he’d been dunked in flour - but judging by the half torn white clothes and the spots of faded blood here and there, he’s a ghost.

“Hello,” I greet, “are you enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, totally! Me and Mattie- Oh, man, where did he go?” Alfred turns, looks right at the boy behind him, and then makes a show of looking around past him.

The aforementioned ghost gives a long suffering sigh. “My name is Matthew. I’m Alfred’s brother - he always does this. He acted like I was invisible for the first ten years of my life, so… It kind of stuck. It’s sort of an inside joke now.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply, “my name is Kiku. I just met Alfred the other day.”

“Oh, Mattie! There you are!” Alfred flings his arm over Matthew’s shoulder, making his brother stumble. 

“Yeah, this is my brother!” Alfred seems proud, patting Matthew’s chest. 

“You’re going to get the white makeup on you again, Alfred,” Matthew mumbles, sighing softly. 

As if on cue, Arthur, dressed in a magician costume, complete with a top hat, wand, and sweeping cloak, rounds the corner and storms towards us. “Alfred Felicity Jones, I swear to  _ god _ if you get makeup on that costume again- Oh. Hello, Kiku.”

I smile faintly. “Hello, Arthur-san.”

“I wasn’t aware you would be here,” he comments, coming to a stop beside Alfred and wrenching the taller blond’s arm off of Matthew to inspect the costume for any white makeup. 

“I wasn’t going to originally, but Feliciano convinced Ludwig and I.”

“Oh,” says Alfred, looking up, “Feliciano and Ludwig are with you?”

“They went to the haunted house.”

“Ah,” Arthur smirks, “Ludwig’s form of revenge, no doubt. He can’t hold a grudge against that boy for long, in any case.”

“Oh, dear,” Matthew murmurs, twisting Alfred’s arm to look at the sleeve of his costume. 

Sure enough, there appears to be a line of white makeup there. Arthur spins around, scowling. He hisses, snatches Alfred by the ear, and marches him off towards the bathroom. Matthew shoots me an apologetic smile, a quiet farewell, and then drifts after them to undoubtedly do damage control. I watch them go, shake my head, and turn to wander on.

\--

I end up going through the haunted house, long after Feliciano and Ludwig have. It isn’t particularly scary, though I do hear a couple of shrieks and laughter from people ahead or behind me. I don’t react for half of it, but the other half I take pity and at least fake one.

Unfortunately, I’m not an actor. They’re very obviously faked reactions.

Exiting the gym, I head back into the main hall, debating on searching for Ludwig and Feliciano or just heading back to my room. Of course, that’s the precise moment I spot a familiar trio. 

They’re all hunched over what looks to be a bag of mixed candies, digging through. Antonio is dressed in full black, complete with horns, a tail, and demon wings, and I’m embarrassed to realize that I recognize Gilbert’s costume as Jean from that  _ Shall We Date _ game series. Francis is dressed neatly in black slacks, a black and red vest, and a white shirt, but the black cloak and fangs give him away as a vampire. 

Seeing as they’re distracted, I whirl on my heel and hurry back the opposite direction to get away before they can see me. Francis had already spent a good amount of time trying to convince me to come - I don’t want him to see that I’m actually  _ here. _

I wander down one of the halls at the end of the main hall - it’s more secluded here, save for a few illuminated classrooms, where teachers are no doubt stuck giving out candy. The doors are closed, as though to prevent students from coming in. I don’t realize how overwhelming the noise and activity of the Halloween festivities are until now. I can breathe again. 

I end up spending a moment here, wandering down to the end of the hall, towards the back corridor that connects each hall. Leaning against the wall right before the lockers start, I check my phone. Ludwig, it seems, has been sending me updates on where he and Feliciano are in case I want to join them. I smile to myself.  _ I’m too lucky to have friends like them. _

They’re at the outside carnival, last time Ludwig said, so I move to leave the hall so I can join them. In the same instant, Francis prowls around the corner, smiling a wicked smile - it’s infinitely more unnerving with the vampire teeth. 

I yelp and back right up into the first locker, effectively cornering myself. 

_ Oh dear. _

“It’s Halloween, Kiku,” he half purrs, “and you know what that means.  _ Trick or treat? _ ”

“I don’t, uh, have any candy-”

“Well,” Francis drawls, smirking, “then I’ll just have to get my own, won’t I?”

Francis leans close and I instinctively freeze. The fangs graze the base of my throat and I barely hear Francis’ voice, a breathy whisper against my skin.

“You have  _ no _ idea what I want to do you.”

And then he laughs and moves back, putting both hands up in a surrendering manner and grinning. 

“Kidding!” He laughs. “You’re so easy to tease; I couldn’t help myself!”

I open my mouth to speak, and then close it again when no words come out. Well, it doesn’t look like I’m joining Ludwig and Feliciano after all. I retreat from Francis, head down, without looking back. 

My heart pounds against my ribs the entire way back to my dorm.


End file.
